Be Prepared To Die
by bobthetree123
Summary: They covered her head with a bag, dragged her over rough ground till her feet bled, threw her into a dirt cell with no windows, came in for three days, torturing her, making her believe she was going to die. Borderline M
1. Awaiting Fate

Hi guys!!!  
this story is based on the story brennan told in 'The Woman In The Garden." It really intrigued me so I decided to write about it, as she only gave the idea vaguely.

So here's my take on it!

Please review with ANY comment, just to see whether I should continue or not.

Dedicated to my friends Brooke, Emily, and Veronica who provided me with heaps of support and kept harassing me to write.

Thanks!

* * *

"The nick on the femur suggests brutal stabbing," Temperance Brennan concluded, turning the bone over slowly in her hands. She squinted closely at the mark, looking for any hints of a weapon ID. Her eyes blurred and re-focused. She sat back, wiping her hand across her forehead. She really needed a drink, but the water here was unsafe. She felt as though she would pass out any moment from the sun, baking the mud onto her clothing.

A man walked over to her, and asked her something in Spanish. The language was vague to her, and she could only remember key sentences. He spoke quickly and Brennan was unable to distinguish each word.

He spoke slower, in broken English. "Another. Stab?"

She nodded. "_Si_," she agreed. She heard the pain in her own voice. She was surrounded by stab victims, murdered by brutal, uncaring brutes who thought they owned the world. They needed to show who was boss, and achieved that by killing hundeds. Soon a small group spread like fleas, recruiting hundreds, sending them all around the city to kill people.

Less people, more food.

It was sickening.

She straightened up, feeling her back crack. She was surrounded by silence and hot wind, everyone standing back to give her room. Her tent was about 50 metres away, and she could see the last patient on a make-shift table. Soon this person would be in its place, and she would continue to the next victim.

She whistled and signaled to the leader of the dig. He waved to a few of his men next to him, and they came over to her, their thick boots cracking the muddy ground. They carried the body over to the table.

Brennan dealt with death nearly every day, but she rarely got so many in one day. It was overwhelming, and began to exhaust her. She really needed a rest, but knew these poor souls had to rest peacefully.

She had to bury as many as possible, properly.

She allowed the leader to guide her to the next body. It sat beside a deep pit, presumably an old well, and the bones were dripping.

She immediately saw the cause of death, and it sickened her.

A gunshot wound to the cranium.

And even though she couldn't currently see it, she was certain that there would be evidence of rape.

Her bones suggested around 8 – 10 years old.

Brennan sat back on her haunches. She had dealt with hundreds of murders, but these cut deep. They were mostly young girls and boys, ranging from 6 – 18, all with evidence of rape.

This was not how they were meant to die.

Without looking at the face, Brennan ran her hands over the body.

"No visual evidence of stabbing." She scraped aside the wet mud covering the bones. "Gunshot wound to the head. Several bones broken from the fall through the well. Young girl. 8 – 10 years old."

Too young to die.

Something about this victim seperated her form all the others. Maybe it was because she was dumped into a well. Maybe it was the gunshot. She didn't know, but she wanted to work this one herself.

She followed the Spanish crew back to the tent. An empty table laid waiting, its plastic surface still sporting old marks of caked mud. They lay the girl gently onto it.

Brennan started on it immediately. She cleaned the bones the best she could, and ran over them with her well-trained eyes. She could see indentations the whole way down. She felt her stomach drop.

She had been shot, raped _and _stabbed _multiple_ times.

Brennan felt tears begin to form in her eyes. She blinked heavily until she felt the dew return behind her eyes. She sat on the plastic chair behind her and buried her face in her hands.

She shouldn't get emotional.

Screw that.

She let the tears flow, emitting her emotions of anger, hate, and saddness and letting them fall into her hand. She tasted the salt building up on her lip.

A woman working with her came over to her. "You. Go." She pointed to her tent about 100 meters away.

"Sleep. You. Tired."

Brennan nodded, grateful.

"Brason. Wait. You."

She wasn't sure whether someone called Brason would be waiting for her there or she had to wait for him, but the woman waved her off, and so she stumbled blindly across the cracked mud, the dirt whipping around her feet. She desperately wanted a cold breeze to freeze her, but none came, only hot gusts. She breathed in the humid air, stilfling her.

She swore this place was reducing her.

She met who she assumed to be "Brason" at the door of her tent. He had a large gun strapped across a muscled chest. Brennan knew he wouldn't be afraid to use it. She vowed to be polite.

"You here to protect me?" She mimed the sentence, pointing first to him, then herself, and then crossed her arms over her chest to suggest defence.

Whether he understood or not, Brason nodded.

Brennan walked past him and into the tent.

The inside of the tent was even more stifling then the heat outside. She tried not to choke on the enclosed air.

It was hard. It was everywhere.

She threw off her vest and untied her shoes, relieving her feet to the air, glad that they were free from their confined spaces.

She lay down on her sleeping back, closing her eyes, trying to erase the images of the sun-baked bodies from her mind.

There wasn't much else to fill it with.

_Think of Angela. _Her new-found friend she met at a bar. The life of the party.

_Angela._

She began to drift off with her friend the focus point of her mind, when she heard the fly on her tent being unzipped. She was confused – no-one else shared the tent.

With some effort, she opened her eyes. She saw Brason, her guard, standing in the entrance of the tent. She was puzzled. Why was he here?

And then the door opened again, and two other men joined Brason.

He pointed at her. "You are to stop."

They were here to hurt her. That was her immediate thought.

The fact that he spoke English clearly didn't register into her mind.

"You are to stop what you are doing. There are hundreds more. They deserve their punishments. You are ruining our overall plan. Stop or we will kill you."

She didn't doubt it. Brason must have been in one of the gang, sent to stop her.

She knew she was facing dangerous people.

"I can't stop," she said. She chose her next words critically – she knew they could get her killed. "I have no choice. These people deserve peace."

Brason turned his head to the other two burly men and nodded. The moved forward, crushing her clothes and bags as though they were insects. She felt scared, and felt her heart shrink inside. She knew she had said something wrong.

What would they do to her?

They descended to the floor, and ripped off her pants.

Oh, dear God. It was even worse then imagined.

They would kill her as they killed all their other victims.

Raped, then stabbed or shot. Or both.

They grabbed at her panties. Brennan shot her leg out, kicking Brason in the nose. He stumbled back, but the other two men flew onto her like flies onto a carcass. She swung around, managing to get to her feet, and punched the second guy in the mouth, kicking him in the stomach when he bent over. She swung the same leg around back into Brason, and then hit her knee to the thrid man's crotch, making him double over in pain.

"You bitch!" Brason screamed.

He punched her face, and kneed her in the stomach. Despite herself, she bent over. The three men together forced her skull into a headlock position, and threw a black bag over her head, wrapping a piece of rope tightly around it.

She was dazed. She wondered whether they would strangle her. She had heard of an old method of killing used many hundred years ago. It was called burking. They tied a bag around the victim's head and sat on them, making them gasp for air but choking on nothing.

They were crazy enough to kill thousands of people. This would be nothing.

But they didn't sit on her. They held her up, and she could hear low voices in Spanish.

Probably deciding her fate.

After a few minutes she felt a tug on the rope around her neck. The rope slid against her skin, leaving a burn. They pain ripped through her. They dragged her outside the tent. Though the bag was dark, she could tell that it was already dark outside.

Perfect. For them.

No-one would see them.

Brennan tripped on a rock, and tried to land on her palms. But Brason tugged on the rope mid-fall, choking her. He growled, and began to drag her. She had no idea where they were going, but she was scared.

Her dangling feet trailed over loose rocks and dirt. The shards cut her bare ankles, and she felt the blood trail down her feet. She hoped they were close to arriving.

After about 10 minutes they stopped. Brennan could feel the rope cutting her neck and multiple stones caught in her feet. She felt like hell, and she still had no idea what was happening.

She strained to hear what was happening, but the bag was thick, and she could only get vague sentences of Spanish. She gave up, awaiting her fate.

She felt herself airborne, and braced herself for the landing. She landed on her side, her face in dirt. She spat it out.

She heard the clanging of a metal door closing. She strained her ears, but could hear no sound.

Where was she?

What was happening?

She was as good as dead.

* * *

So, what did you think? As I said, please review with ANY form of a comment, whether good or bad. That would be SOOO great. Thanks guys!!!


	2. No Escape

Thankyou to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I know this seems kind of boring and i really appreciate everyone who actually clicked onto it to read it. Please tell me any ideas to make it better.

* * *

Brennan scrabbled at the soft ground and somehow managed to pull herself into a sitting position. She couldn't see a thing – the bag was still obscuring her vision. She closed her eyes, but it didn't make much difference.

She took a deep breath in, but hardly anything entered her mouth. She breathed out, her breath ragged and unstable. She knew that there wasn't much oxygen left in the interior of the bag, and that if she didn't get it off soon, she would choke.

A horrible way to die.

She reached up and grappled at the rope surrounding her neck. She felt the thick knot formed, and tried to untie it. It was difficult without being able to see the knot. Nonetheless she tried frantically to free her head, knowing that if she couldn't escape these bonds, she could die.

She could feel her fingers rubbing on the rope, and cuts were beginning to form. Pain began to burn. She gripped harder, pulling opposite ways, trying in every way possible to free herself. She grabbed the separate strands of rope, and pulled, screaming at the effort. She felt the rope begin to part underneath her fingers. Light was exploding behind her eyes. She lowered her head and kept pulling, her breathing short and scraped.

The rope finally broke loose, and she was able to unwind it around her neck. She lifted the bag, feeling the hessian crumble beneath her fingers. She could finally breathe. She inhaled the clean air, glad that she now had a chance to escape.

She looked around. Everything was still dark. She stood up, and then fell as she put weight on her feet. She rubbed them, and felt the blood cascade onto her fingers. She stood up again, putting much support on her hands. She stumbled over to the wall, and then slowly walked forward, feeling her way along the dirt structure. She reached a corner, and turned.

Soon she reached a break in the wall. It turned from dirt to metal – this must be the door. She felt bars along the width of it, with a smooth surface underneath. She groped for a handle, but knew there wouldn't be one. Sure enough, her hands only found a smooth surface.

She continued around, but the rest of the room was dirt. There were no windows, so she couldn't tell whether it was night or day. She moved back over to the door.

She clung onto the bars. She wondered whether they would bring her food, or would they just leave her here, let her starve. She didn't have any water with her. In fact, she didn't have anything with her.

She slid down the wall, sitting on dirt and laying her head back. She knew that this was a fatal trip for her. She might die, in this cell. She could see of no way to escape.

A wind blew from the fraction of space below the door. The air swirled around her vulnerable legs, emerging goosebumps. The attackers had taken her pants, and now she was only in her underwear.

She could freeze.

Great.

She sighed deeply. How could she have gotten into this mess? All she did was find human remains, which should not mean she should be killed for it.

The wind continued to blow, bringing the fresh El Salvadorian air inside. As it sank into her feet, she had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out. The wind was cutting into her wounds, and the pain was unbearable. She clenched her hands around her feet, the blood now mostly dry. Sensitively touching them, she could feel the depth of the wounds. She found some protruding rocks, and slowly pulled them from her skin.

The pain was killing her. She groaned and pulled off her jacket. It was covered in dirt. She ripped the material creating the arms, creating strips. She wrapped them around her feet. The pain stopped momentarily, but it soon returned when the blood soaked into the cotton.

She knew she couldn't last like this. But she had to. It was either this, or death.

She crawled back to the corner furthest away from the door. The wind failed to reach her, so she was warmed slightly. Still, she hugged herself, wrapping her tired arms around her bleeding legs, and hugging them to her chest.

She laid her head on her knees. No emotions came, just blank emptiness. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it.

She began to rock back and forth. It was pointless, but somehow gave a soothing effect, and soon she was calmed down enough to think.

But she couldn't.

Her brain was filled with horrible thoughts of the victims, her attackers, and the bag coming towards her head. She couldn't rid the memories, and so they stayed with her.

She tried to think of Angela, or her latest boyfriend. She began to think of them, together, and soon that led to thoughts of them in bed together. Her brain began to calm as she thought of happy memories. Jack, as he came towards her, his handsome chest only inches from her own. She remembered reaching out, tracing her hands along his fine muscles.

Some dirt collapsed from the wall and it all came flooding back.

She sighed and dropped her head forward.

She dropped onto her side and curled into a ball. Dust and dirt mixed into her hair, onto the side of her face, along her legs. A single tear slid down her cheek, creating a small puddle beside her face.

She was all alone.

No-one cared.

No-one.

* * *

She awoke and sat up immediately when she heard the metal door clang open. Pale dawn light filtered into the room. Her eyes were groggy and blurred. She blinked multiple times, trying to clear her vision. She glanced around her, and she could finally see a full profile of the room. It was small, only about 10 metres wide each side.

And all entirely dirt.

Only then did she focus her eyes to the doorway. She recognised Brason standing there, muscles protruding from his chest. He was favoring his left arm – she must have hit him there, hard.

She smiled inwardly.

She cowered back against the wall, and then rethought, instead standing up, a brave look upon her face.

She probably looked braver then she felt.

She saw Brason run her eyes over her. She tried to cover her legs as a hungry look glazed his eyes. She glowered her eyes at him. He brought his back up in level of hers and stared back.

"What do you want?" She asked. Her voice didn't quaver.

"I'm here to see how you're doing. See how close you are to dying." He grinned maliciously.

She wanted to hurt him. Badly. But she knew that could kill her.

"What do you want?" She repeated. "Why am I in here?"

"Because, you deserve a slow, painful death. You're going to waste away in here, and no-one will care."

She knew that wasn't true. She began to register how well he spoke English. But his accent was thick.

"That's not true," she argued.

"Give up. Promise you'll give up and I _may _let you live."

It was a promising offer. But these people deserved a true life.

She became an anthropologist to give people peace – to return them to their families.

She would not defy her career, her life.

"Never," she spat.

"Fine. You will stay in here, starve, and waste away. Or, if you're lucky, I'll kill you just how I killed all those other kids. No-one will even recognize you. Yes, that seems to work. I'll enjoy it. I'll be back – wait until you're begging to die so you can't fight back." He began to leave.

"Wait!!!!" She cried. "Is there any way I can still help with the case? At all?"

Brason snickered. "Enjoy death."

He shut the door behind him. She was enclosed in darkness once more. She stumbled back onto the wall.

Her fears were confirmed.

Without food or water, she would die in a matter of hours, a day if lucky.

And then he'll be back, ready to finish her off.

There was no escaping, at all.

* * *

Thanks for reading, and please review!


	3. Dead Belief

Her eyes were blinded as harsh sunlight streamed in through the open door, creating a puddle of yellow light. A woman entered. One look at her, and Brennan could tell that she was a woman subjected to a larger power – only delivering because the other alternative was harsh punishment or death.

She brought a tray of food and a flask of warm water.

Brennan looked up at her, squinting against the sun. "Brason said he would starve me," she said, confused.

The young girl nodded. "He doesn't know what I'm doing. I don't want to see you die, Miss Brennan. I think it's cruel the choice you have. But I can only bring you food once a day."

"You'll get yourself killed! If they find out-"

"They won't. It's not much, but it's all I can give you."

"Thankyou, Miss..."

"Just Naomi."

"Thankyou, Naomi."

The girl bowed her head and slipped out of the door, leaving the tray on the dirt below.

Brennan scrambled over to the tray. The silver platter contained a few scraps of meat, some strips of bread, the flask of water, a pad of thick, yellow paper and pen, and a large roll of bandage. Naomi must have suspected that she would be wounded.

Gratefully, Brennan unwrapped her makeshift bandage stuck to her wounds and applied the fresh cloth. It applied comfort, and she wound a thick wad of it around her feet and legs.

She picked up some of the bread. It felt stale, but it was betetr then starvation. She only ate one small piece, planning to save as much as she could so she wouldn't hunger through the night.

The water was warm. It was probably also teaming with bacteria but she wasn't complaining – these meagre morsels would keep her alive.

Brennan reached out for the notepad. She was grateful she now had something to keep her occupied, apart form the thoughts of ehr coming torture and death. She began to doodle aimlessly on it, and though it kept her busy, it wasn't entertaining.

She crawled back over to her familiar spot on the wall. The small section of light was expanding as the sun grew higher. Brennan could feel sweat beginning to build up on her forehead and upper lip. It would get hot and uncomfortable in this tiny space. She knew the heat could reach up to 45 degrees, and this small area would make it even hotter.

She had no idea of the time. The only inkling of measurement was the tiny filtering under the door, and she could only tell the difference between day and night. The heat was beginning to fuzzle her brain, and everything began to swim before her.

She took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself, regain her vision, collect her thoughts. But it was hard – the heat was overpowering.

She would be glad when darkness came.

* * *

She wished she could have taken back that thought.

It was now dark, and she was shivering. Her naked legs were unforgiving in the cold night. She tried to warm herself, but she had nothing to cover herself with.

She heard little from outside. She was used to the quiet chirping of crickets and beetles from inside her tent, the smooth rustling of grass.

But she couldn't hear a thing except her own short breath.

The door smakced open. Her head snapped up, keen to see her visitor.

Or intruder.

Though it was dark, she was able to make out the figure of Brason. Her eyebrows lowered, her blood began to boil. Her anger was rising just looking at the outline of this man.

"Come to gloat, have you?" she asked from the shadows. Surprisingly, she sounded confident and strong.

"About what? The nice, fresh air outside, the large portions of food, _chicken_," he snickered. Brennan had a ferocious urge to hurt him – anywhere.

"What do you want?" She spat.

Brason stepped into the line of vision. "Just to see how you're doing. You don't look any weaker. But that could be a good thing. Make your screams sound even stronger."

Brennan gulped. Then she saw what Brason held in his right hand.

He was holding a metal pole, about the length of her arm.

He advanced towards her, slowly. She scampered back into the wall. He smiled.

"Not so brave are you, Miss Fighter? Just wait until I've finished and you'll be as scared as a puppy."

He reached forward, striking Brennan with the pole. The pain hit her arm, and she cried out. She felt no blood flow, but a bruise would appear the next morning.

She scampered to the side, as his next hit jsut missed her. She tried to stand up, but the pain sharpened in her foot and she fell down again. She tried to kick out, her foot connecting with Brason's knee, but the pain would be for the both of them. The connection jolted through her leg, but she was satisfied at his grunt of pain.

He swung wildly again, the bat landing on her vulnerable thigh. She tried and failed not to shout out. She tried to run – well, crawl – but the space was too small. She saw the open door and tried to scamper for it.

Brason saw where she was heading and he reached down, grabbing her legs. The force made her stop and slide back. Brason dragged her along the ground, the dirt and rocks now scratching her left side.

She immediately felt the blood.

Brason came back for another attack, striking her spine. Brennan flopped limply onto the ground. He continued the flurry of attacks, striking her all over her body.

Then he grabbed her by the arms, lifting her up and smashing her against the wall. She was nearly unconcious, but he shook her to make sure she was paying attention.

"Listen," he growled. "If you don't give up, I'll torture you; make you wish you were dead. I'll shoot you in the head and dump you down a well, just like that little girl. I _will _get what I want. Understand?"

She couldn't talk. She was slipping in and out of conciousness. Brason threw her on the ground.

"Pathetic," he muttered and walked out.

Brennan had white light popping behind her eyes. She couldn't move, and she felt blood dripping all over her body.

Brason was right.

She wished she were dead.

* * *

Harsh, I know

Sorry it's shorter, though it could be a good thing. Thanks for the reviews last chapter. Please keep them up - I know hundreds of people read stories but only about 3 review, so I'd like as many people as possible to review - otherwise ill think that noone likes the story, or its not good, or not worth updating. Also any ideas would be appreciated.

Thanks for reading, adn sorry for taking so long to update.


	4. Estimation

I should warn people before they read this that this chapter does have a rape in it, and that if you would like you could ignore it. I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible so people can skip ahead. I apologise, I do not usually write these types of scenes in my stories, but I am trying to create torture.

From now I am changing the rating to M,as it was previously T. If people would like me to tone it down a bit, then please let me know. And the 'scene' isn't very detailed, but some people may not like it and want it out. That is ok but please let me know and i will change it as soon as possible.

* * *

She awoke to her own pain trembling through her. She sat up, feeling her cuts and bruises everywhere. She couldn't see – only a slight, faded light flitted under the door. She scrambled over to it, but it didn't cast anything onto her skin.

So she felt herself instead, starting from her head. She could feel cut marks all over her face from where her head kept hititng the floor. Dried blood cascaded down her cheek.

She could feel cuts all over her body. She prodded at her arms and legs, wincing as she felt the sores, touching the bruises.

The terrible thought was struck into her mind – that he'd be back. He had promised that she would wish she was dead – this was light work. He would turn much worse, until she was on her knees, unable to stand, too weak to move, praying for the final blow to put her out of her misery.

That's what he wanted, and she knew she would easily be reduced to that weeping mess. They were too strong for her to even try to resist.

She didn't know how long had passed. Her brain was muddy and clogged, stopping all scientific or even standard thoughts enteringher brain. She could only think of what lay ahead, what had been, or the current darkness.

No happy thoughts were left.

She tried to estimate the time, but even that was hard. Judging by the thin wafer of light, she guessed it was around 6 in the morning. It hard been dark when Brason had attacked; had she been unconcious a day and a half?

Amazingly, her bread and water was still in the corner. It was a miracle that Brason hadn't seen it – she knew the penalty for Naomi if he had. She managed to crawl over to it, stufifng the morsel of food into her mouth. She wondered whether the girl would be back.

She could see the left-over bandage. She wondered whether to begin using it, but thought it best to leave it. These were only minor injuries. She would need them for the broken arm or bullet wound in the days to come.

She huddled into the corner. She felt nothing. She felt weak. She felt as though she could just lie down, close her eyes and never open them again.

She remembered what Brason had said. _"If you don't give up, I'll torture you; make you wish you were dead. I'll shoot you in the head and dump you down a well, just like that little girl. I __will __get what I want."_

She sighed. Her fate was decided.

She couldn't think of any ways to escape. The only way was the door, but that had only been opened three times since she had been in here – to Brason, and to Naomi.

She might be able to sneak out past the girl, but Naomi had already put her life at risk by sending her food. She shuddered at her fate if Brason found out that she had let her out – it wouldn't be as severe as hers, but bad enough.

It was unkind to put her life in danger for help that she didn't expect to recieve.

And if she tried to sneak out past Brason...

She shivered, though there was no wind – at least, not inside the cell.

She heard the door creak open, and looked up. She expected Brason, coming back for another attack.

But it was another man, just as burly. She recognised him in the gloom as one of Brason's henchmen.

"Oh, it's you," she spat.

The man chuckled, a gravely laugh. "Don't be so unkind, missy."

He strolled into the cell. "Brason doesn't know I'm here, and I don't plan on tellin' 'im. I thought I'd get some of your pleasure for myself – he can't have all the fun."

Brennan could tell that he was wearing thick khaki shorts, and a white singlet top. She could also tell that a gun was hidden in his shorts.

"I still have your pants – I smell them each night before I go to bed. The smell is erotic – it turns me on."

Brennan shivered. She had a feeling that she knew what he was planning on doing.

"So, knowing that your pants are in the tent means that you aren't wearing any. If I recall, I ripped them off you when you tried to attack me. You really shouldn't have done that – I'm a nice man!"

Brennan tried not to laugh at his lies. But she was stunned, scared.

"And I see it's true." The door was still open, and his eyes ran down her legs, holding on the panties. "I should warn you that those, too, will be removed."

Brennan was trying to back against the wall, but to no avail. She was stuck. She moved towards the door, but the man saw what she was doing, and quickly shut it.

"We'll do this slowly," he whispered. "I want to enjoy it. Hopefully, you will too. Then maybe you won't hate me."

"I'll always hate you," she whispered, grinding her teeth together.

The man moved towards her. "By the way, my name's Bruce. That way, when you scream, you can say my name." He was whispering in her ear. She could feel his stubble grazing against the side of her face.

She was still on the ground. Bruce reached down to pull her up, to hold her against the wall, but a sharp rap on the door stopped him. He turned to face the entrance, and then turned back to Brennan.

"Ask who it is," he whispered.

"Wh-who is it?" she called, her voice weak and high, afraid it was Brason, coming to join his friend.

"It's Naomi."

Bruce growled. And then grinned.

"This could turn to my advantage," he said, his voice dripping with pleasure. Brennan winced at the disgusting tone. "Tell her to come in," he growled.

"Come in, Naomi."

The door creaked as it was unlocked. Suddenly Brennan felt the cold barrel of the gun against her head.

What?

Naomi took one look and saw Bruce holding a gun against Brennan's head. She was nervous, about to run.

Brennan tried to calm her down. "Naomi, it's fine. Just do what he says."

Bruce nodded. "You learn fast, missy. Here's how it's going to work. You do as I say, or your friend dies." Brennan wasn't sure who he was talking to.

She looked up and saw that Bruce was talking to Naomi. She saw the hungry look in his eyes. Naomi was a lot younger then Brennan, and probably, in Bruce's eyes, a lot more appealing. It was sickening.

"Come over here," Bruce called, trying to be kind. "It's alright. Look, I'll put my gun down, but you still have to do as I say, unerstand? Just remember, one wrong move-" his hands whipped around to hold Brennan's head. One twist and her neck would snap. "-and she dies."

"Naomi, I'm not worth this for. Run, let him kill me. I'm dead anyway."

Brennan saw that Naomi was tempted by the offer – Brennan looked like crap, cut marks everywhere. But she was a loyal girl.

"No, I'll do what you say," she whimpered.

"There's a good girl," Bruce said, his voice sickening. "Now, just shut the door behind you."

Naomi reached behind her and shut the metal door. Darkness enveloped the cell.

"Now, come over here, Naomi. There we go, right in front of me."

Brennan didn't think. "Please, Bruce, she's too young. Take me instead."

"I'll come back to you. But this one's younger, and fresh!"

Brennan could hear Naomi whimper.

"Are you a virgin, Naomi?"

"Yes," she squeked.

"Good. I'll show you what to do, then."

Only sounds ensued. Brennan tried to cover her ears, not wanting to hear the desperate pleas and cries. But the sounds flowed through her hands. She heard the zipper of a fly, the commands from Bruce.

"Come here, Naomi. On your knees. There you go," he whispered.

As the cell was small, every sound could be heard. She heard the wet, choked noises coming from only a few metres away. She heard Bruce grunting, muttering Naomi's name.

She heard Bruce commanding Naomi to stand up, to take off her garments. She looked away, not even wanting to see an outline of what was happening, but nothing could stop the noises. She began to hum inside her head, to distract herself, do anything to stop the sounds.

But the groaning was getting worse. Bruce was grunting, a deep gutteral sound. Naomi was trying not to break, but her squeal echoed around the cell. Brennan curled into a ball, trying to block it all out.

She felt the wall shake as Bruce pushed Naomi back against the wall, not in fury, but caught in the middle of the frenzy. The dirt shook and toppled down onto her head, making her brush it off. Now that she had released her hands from her ears, the souns were so much louder, and she could hear the combined grunting, moaning, and heavy breathing.

She covered her ears once more. A few minutes later, she felt a kick in her side. She looked up. She could see the outline of Bruce. He was back in his clothes. She uncovered her ears.

"I'm spent," he said, "but I'll be back tomorrow. And don't mention this to Brason – our little secret. But before I leave, I just need to know – did that turn you on?"

She could _hear _him grin. And then his hands shoved roughly against her soft spot. He drew them back, sniffing.

"That'll help me sleep. Can't wait. Oh, and Brason said this was fun." Bruce swung his hand around, colliding with her jaw. She fell onto her side.

"Hey, that was fun!" he said. "I'll be back tomorrow." He walked out the door, hustling Naomi in front of him.

Brennan was scared. He had tortured her – made her watch him seduce a young, innocent girl. She wondered whether she should tell Brason, wondered if he would beat Bruce up.

But then Bruce would come back again, and make it even more hell.

She should never have come here.

All she could do was await Brason. At least she knew she had a day before Bruce's hell, but less for Brason's. His fists would continue to make indents on her skin, leaving their signature.

Soon her sores would double, more blood spilt.

All for the blood of young children who should never have died.

* * *

As i said, if you would like this chapter deleted, or changed, please tell me. But i didnt want brason jsut to come in, and this story be over in 4 chapters. I had to fill in time.

; if you are reading this, you mentioned in your review that you are waiting for something major to happen. If you have any ideas that would be great.

If everyone wants to give ideas for this story, that would be great. Please review and let me know what you think

Thanks for reading


	5. Rumours

I apologise soo many times over for being late updating. I originally was updating a story each night, but holidays and me being lazy don't mix in. Plus I have to come home from work and I'm tired. Anyway, this story was originally going to be without Booth. But I could think of no other way for her to be rescued, and I am always B&B. So, yes, I've managed to tie him into the story. Thankyou for al the ideas, and any more would be great.

* * *

Special Agent Seeley Booth swung back on his chair, leaning against the cabinet. He tapped a few keys on his computer, fiddling aimlessly. The open file in front of him was blank, waiting to be filled in.

The phone on his desk began to ring. He pressed the speaker button.

"Booth."

"_Agent Cullen would like to see you, Booth._"

"Thanks, Alice."

Booth stood up and stretched his arms out. Maybe Cullen would be asking about the current case. He was leading the unit, but he knew Cullen would so-far be disappointed with his results.

He walked down the hallway to the Deputy Director's office. He knocked quietly on the open door.

"Sir?" he asked.

"Come in, Agent Booth." Cullen motioned with his hands for Booth to take a seat.

"I need a favor, Booth." Typical Cullen. Never had time for small talk.

"Is this to do with the current case, sir?"

"Ah, no, I'm sure you're doing fine on that, Booth. I had a call saying that there have been some troubles in El Salvador. There have been heaps of massacred victims, killed by gang members awhile back, and many specialists are over there now, investigating."

"I'm sorry, sir, but what do you want me to do?"

"I'm not finished, Booth. There have been rumors that people from the original gangs are still there, and that they've been causing trouble."

"But they could just be rumors, sir. Are you suggesting I fly out to El Salvador to see if there's trouble based on rumors?"

"No, not quite. They've been using local trained teams as bodyguards. The gangs believe these people should stay dead, and the specialists are interfering. Now no-one is safe."

"So, I'm meant to…?"

"I want you to fly over there, and act as a bodyguard. See if there's anything suspicious going on."

"But sir, what about the current case? We're close to closing in on the perpetrator."

"I'll get someone to cover that." Cullen rubbed his forehead.

"But…why can't you just send one of the other agents, sir?"

"Because you're the best, Booth, and I need someone over there I can trust. Also, you were a sniper in the desert. You're used to pretending to be people you're not, being unseen. This should be your area of expertise. Is that a good enough excuse?"

"Good enough for me, sir. When do I fly out?"

"Tomorrow, so pack your bags."

"Yes, sir."

Booth got out of the chair and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Booth?"

"Yes, sir?" Booth turned back to Cullen.

"Be careful. We can't afford to lose you. These people don't play games. Do you know how they've killed most of their victims? Raped, and shot in the head, dumped for scavengers. Be on your guard."

"Yes, sir."

Booth left Cullen's office, heading towards home to begin to pack. He had to get up early to catch a plane.

* * *

I apologise for the chapter being a lot shorter, but this was a vital scene. I'll try to update as soon as I can. Keep coming with the ideas and reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks for reading


	6. Stationed

Yes, once again i did not keep my word and update the next night. I apologise. Thankyou for all the great reviews. Keep the ideas coming, and it's good that people like the idea of me bringing in booth. By the way i don't live in america or el salvador, i live in australia therefore i apologise if i got any facts wrong, especially any about el salvador. Also, if there are any inconsistencies, i apologise and please let me know, or any queries about when they met or whatever. This is a fan site, so im sort of making it up.

And i think i should now change this story to M, because it is kinda gruesome.

* * *

Booth impatiently drummed his fingers on the tray on the back of the seat. The man next to him turned his head, and raised an eyebrow. Booth looked away, folded his arms and looked out the window.

He was bored out of his mind. He hated coach. No TV's, no free magazines, no nothing. And he didn't even get to stop to pick up a crossword puzzle!

He let out a deep breath and thumped his head against the back of the chair. He looked at his watch. He had been on this flight for 4 hours and had many more to go, and he could tell his new friend was getting sick of him.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the Notebook the FBI had provided him with. But from up here, he couldn't connect to the internet.

Maybe he could try a new career path, be a writer? He had heard of many people who wrote books on the side to their daily jobs. That Temperance Brennan, for example. Didn't she just release that bestseller? Man, he'd seen the pictures. She was a real beauty. He hoped one day he could get an autograph for Parker.

Booth closed his eyes and tried to rest. He heard a buzzing noise in his ear.

How the hell could a fly be up here? Wouldn't they die from the altitude or something?

He swatted at it, but it jumped out of his reach. Great, nothing to do, an easily annoyed man _and _a stalker fly.

Just what he needed on a long flight.

*

Booth stepped out into the hot air of El Salvador.

"Oh, my God!" he whispered to himself. "This is hell."

Looking out, he could see bodies everywhere. The flat desert land was covered with them, thrown casually as if bags of rubbish. The hot wind swept around him, trying to catch him off guard. Far away in the heat he could see a made-up tent, under which was equipment to house and identify bodies.

He began to head towards it.

But first he had to change into his new identity.

*

Booth emerged from behind a large tree. Not his ideal choice of change-room but there was no bathroom or cave in sight.

He was already sweating. He was wearing long camouflage trousers with black hiking boots. A rifle was strapped across a black t-shirt. He used special army paint he had saved from his Ranger days to decorate his face.

The walk to the shelter was long and hot. His face-paint began to mix with the sweat, dripping down his face. Looking around, he could see multiple people wandering between the bodies. Most looked huge and muscular, and he couldn't tell the guards apart from the terrorists. He kept his face forward, his head held high. He could not show weakness, despite the heat.

The tent was nearing. Underneath, he saw multiple tables, some already occupied. A few people were in the middle of the earning, what looked to be a nurse, a specialist of some kind – maybe an anthropologist, and who he assumed to be the commander.

They all turned at the sound of his footsteps. The commander approached, a curious gleam in his eye.

"Well, well, well," he spat, his accent heavy. "What 'ave we here?"

"I want to apply for the bodyguard, sir." Booth replied.

*

Brennan crawled across the ground. She could barely stand. She couldn't feel even an inch of her own skin, everywhere was covered in blood, dirt or injuries. She was pretty sure that her ankle was broken, but there wasn't much she could do about it. She was worried about Naomi – what had happened to her? Would she return after Brennan pretty much made her go through what she did? She didn't blame Naomi if she never wanted to see her again.

She had to get even. To fight back. But in her condition, that was nearly impossible. She couldn't stand, let alone beat a man twice her build. She needed help, but her options were running out.

_No, that's not true, _she thought. _I never had options._

She waited in terror for Brason, or Bruce. She feared either one. Brason would leave physical damage, where as Bruce…. She didn't want to think about it. _Couldn't. _She couldn't think at all. The pain was her focus now, whether she wanted it to be or not.

Brennan massaged her ankle. It stung with every tiny amount of pressure. Her eyes were falling on her own accord, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could stay conscious. Brason had done damage to her skull, and she wasn't sure if her mind was damaged too.

Certainly she would never forget this trip.

As soon as the sliver of light turned black, the door opened. Brason entered.

"Bruce said he came in to check on you last night. Said that you tried to fight him. Not a good move, missy." He spoke from the shadows, the voice sending a chill down her spine.

Wait, she never tried to fight him! Bruce had set her up so she would be in even more pain, more vulnerable.

"You know the consequences for that, don't you?"

"I can guess." Her voice surprised her. It was barely even a whisper. She could hardly recognize it.

From the corner, she could see Brason looking her up and down, analyzing her injuries.

"Are you ready to surrender?" he asked quietly, gently.

"Never!" she spat.

"Even for your life?"

"I'm not sure what that is any more. I'm dead, anyway."

Out of nowhere, Brason swung his fist around, landing in her stomach. She only flinched. The new pain was nothing compared to the others.

What did that mean?

Brason grabbed her wrist. "I can easily snap this," he whispered into her ear. "Like snapping a twig."

She didn't respond. He slammed it against the wall. Despite herself, her screams rebounded off the cell walls. Her arm fell, her right hand catching her dead left one. She looked up at him.

"Please, stop," she whispered. He grinned, and then kicked her in the thigh. His boot connected with the soft flesh, piercing it.

"Too late."

*

Stationed on his new post outside, Seeley Booth heard the cries of a distressed woman inside. He flinched at the terrified pleas. He tried to listen closely, but the door was pulled open. He quickly snapped back into position, arms cradling the rifle. A guard walked out, a smile painted on his face.

* * *

Please give me all your thoughts, good or bad. sorry if any of these descrptions are...icky for you. please let me know and i'll get rid of them.

Thankyou! And the more reviews, the quicker i update.


	7. Dark Hell

Thankyou for all the reviews and ideas for last chapter. Sorry this one is short again, but I'm running out of ideas and need as much time as possible. By the way, the next few chapters will be more booth

* * *

Booth eyed the soldier as he left. He could still hear the muffled whimpering from the woman inside. Though he was on the same side as the soldier, Booth felt an urge to knock him down and strangle him with his bare hands, demanding to know his reasoning for hurting the woman.

He desperately wanted to save her from the call, her own knight in armour. Booth followed the soldier on impulse, determined to confront him, momentarily forgetting that he was a new recruit and this guy could kill him.

The soldier suspected he was being followed and turned to face Booth.

"What do you want?" he asked suspiciously.

"Sir, I was wondering what you were doing in there?" Booth tried to sound strong, no matter how intimidating this man seemed.

The guard snickered. "Want to see what it's like, torturing women?"

Booth had a new idea. Maybe if he played along, he would be led right to her, and able to see the situation.

"Yes, it's always been a dream of mine to cause a woman pain. But back in America, that's pretty much illegal to a man's pride." Booth hated to lie through his teeth.

The guard narrowed his eyes. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir." It was obvious this man was authority, someone no one wanted to mess with.

"What 'bout this." This man spoke exceptional English, Booth realised. He obviously hadn't been brought up here. "I like you. You prove to be a good soldier and I'll introduce you to the lady. You don't, you'll end up in the dirt or in the cell with her, understand?"

Booth nodded.

"Ok. Meet me here at twenty hundred tomorrow night. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir. Thankyou so much."

"Don't get all slushy on me." The guard walked away. Booth couldn't believe what he had just agreed to. He had never harmed a woman and never planned to.

But he had to get a glimpse at this woman. And if that meant being on the inside, so be it. He had learned that as a federal agent you had to do anything you could to arrive at the truth.

This mission was becoming a lot more complicated.

*

Cold, alone, feeling like no one would come to get her.

She had only ever felt like this once before.

At the foster home.

She was weak with hunger. Naomi had not returned and Brennan knew she never would. She had been through enough because of her.

Brennan hung her head. She was used to taking care of herself. Now, she was using everyone around her, and soon, everyone would resent her.

She sighed and leaned back. Her spine scraped down the wall. She didn't even flinch.

She had no idea how long she had been down here. It felt like weeks, but it could have only been hours. Time was a useless measurement in this dark world.

All emotions had left her. She felt like an empty, hollow shell, all feeling escaped through her wounds and out the tiny strip of door. She couldn't even feel pain any more – physical or emotional.

She didn't care if she was going to die. As promised, she wanted to.

Her stomach growled. She crawled over to the silver platter. A tiny strip of bread was still left. She had been preparing to save it, knowing no more food would come. If she ate it now, she would die from hunger.

Or torture.

Whichever came first.

She threw the bread into her mouth.

She was dead anyway.

Her breath shortened in her throat. Oxygen was becoming less and less in this tiny cell. She crawled to the door, and laid her face against the dirt, her breath drawing in any outside air it could.

Her brain was fighting to stay awake. She knew that any time she closed her eyes, gave into the darkness, she might never wake up.

Her brain was turning to jelly. She couldn't think.

The tiny light disappeared as she gave into the dark terror of hell.


	8. Nobody

I am soooooooo sorry I haven't updated for AGES!!!! And I know this is a short chapter but I haven't had much time. Lately I've had like 9 assignments due in 2 weeks and now I'm in the middle of half-yearly exams, so writing hasn't exactly been the first thought on my mind. But I'm trying to write in some study periods, and have ideas for what's up ahead.

Once again I apologise for the shortness of the chapter. And I will TRY to update as soon as possible. Also thankyou to those who reviewed last chapter.

* * *

The next day, Booth was nervous. He stood outside the cell in the heat, fighting hard to keep still. His mind was telling him to go along with the plan, do what he can to save the woman. But his heart was saying that he could NEVER hurt her. He had to somehow devise a way to disobey the rules.

He couldn't hear any noises from inside, which surprised him. He expected the woman to be in pain – she had to be, with a man like that guard beating her up. There should be some distressed sounds, cries for help, please for release. But there was only silence. That could only mean one of two things – she was being strong, or she was unconcious.

Booth thought he knew which one it was.

He didn't even want to think about another possibility.

The sweat began to slide down his temple. The heat was extreme. He was wearing a singlet shirt, but still he could feel the sun burning into him, threatening cancer. The other guard who had stood with him had left, so he was alone. The silence was as intense as the heat.

The sun took its time to slip behind the horizon. Shadows slowly began to emerge and bugs came out from their daily hibernation to create music in the darkening night. Booth waited patiently for his boss to relieve him, glad that the heat had disappeared. His feet hurt from standing up all day, but he though it best not to complain.

As soon as he was released, Booth ran back to his tent. He didn't have much time before he was meant to be back at the cell. He quickly put on a fresh singlet shirt and grabbed some food from the mess tent.

He arrived back at the cell with minutes to spare.

The guard grinned as he arrived. "Good to see you got here on time," he grunted. "That shows you're in this, newbie. But I have to be sure."

Suddenly, without warning, the guard grabbed the front of Booth's shirt and pulled his gun to Booth's head at the same time. Booth didn't move, just stared coldly into the guard's eyes.

"I need to know that what I show you tonight won't go through camp. This stays between us. If not..." He cocked the gun and the barrell pressed coldly into Booth's temple. "You die, understand? And it will be a painful death."

"Yes, sir," Booth replied.

"Good. By the way, this ain't pretty."

With that, he shoved aside the metal block that held the door closed. He threw it in the dust. He swung the door open and gestured his arms.

"After you."

Booth sauntered into the dank cell. The smell hit him like a slap in the face. At first all he noticed was a silver platter, completely empty, only the dull plated surface glinting at him from the moonlight filtering in behind him.

At one quick look around, he could tell that living in here would be hell. There were no windows, and the floor and walls were dirt. The weight of the air seemed to press down on him, making him want to run outside and breath the fresh night air.

He couldn't even tell she was there until the guard pointed to her.

She didn't look human. She was curled in a ball, her legs pantless, her shirt ripped to shreds by constant scraping on the ground. Her hair was matted, a brown tangle on top of her head. Her hands, arms and legs were covered in dried blood, scratches and purple bruises, and he could tell they were fresh. She looked like she hadn't eaten in days, her skin tight and shrunken.

Her face was unrecognisable. Blood, dirt, sweat and tears were caked in layers, and fresh blood was flowing from a split in her lip. From what little face he could see, it was colourless.

She wasn't moving.

He had been right. She was unconcious. But he could also tell she was strong. She would be in serious pain, and by the little groaning he had heard yesterday, she must be in enough pain not to even feel it.

He struggled to hold himself together.

"This is the little bitch," the guard growled.

"Did you do all this?" he tried to sound admired rather then horrified and disgusted.

"Yeah. Me and my friend Bruce. I'm Brason, by the way."

Booth didn't feel like it was the right time for friendly introductions, but he had to stay on Brason's good side.

"I'm Teddy," Booth said without hesitation. He felt bad using his mate's old name, but it was the first thing that had come to mind. He knew it was stupid to use his real name – if he did anything, Brason could easily track him down and kill him.

"Pitiful sight, isn't it?" He walked over to her and kicked her in the stomach.

She didn't move.

It took Booth everything he had not to either go down and help her or to attack Brason.

Brason saw the look on Booth's face, but misunderstood. "She's not dead," he answered. "Just a bit tired."

Booth once more struggled to resist the urge to tackle Brason to the ground, or just shoot him in the head.

"Who is she?" he asked.

"Some scientist sent here to look at bones. She's a nobody."

Booth was determind to save this 'nobody' from the clutches of Brason and his cronies. Already a plan was forming in his mind.

"Sure. A nobody."


	9. Don't Call Me Seeley

Ok, so for once I actually kept my promise and managed to write a bit more. I apologise if these chapters seem a bit rushed or unedited but I haven't had too much time to do them.

Thankyou everyone who reviewed last chapter. Please feel free to leave comments, thoughts or criticism

**Disclaimer: **Though I can wish, I do not own bones or FOX or any of its characters

* * *

The next day Booth was stationed at the cell. His plan was eager to escape from his mind and trasform into reality but he had to wait until the right time.

The night before Booth had asked Brason if he could see her again tonight, maybe, if he was lucky, hit her a bit. Brason hadn't seen the harm, so had shrugged and agreed – same time, same place, same secret.

After 4 hours of waiting, Booth decided that no-one was likely to come to the cell. He made sure once again that no-one was around – he needn't have bothered – the place was deserted. Slowly, so as not to look suspicious is someone did happen to stumble across the cell and notice him, he reached his hands behind his back and felt for the metal bar. His fingers touched the smooth surface, hot from the heat. Slowly, he began to slide it out from its confinements. The metal scraped harshly against the poles, rusted from years holding prisoners. He felt the bar give way is it was let free. He bent down and gently laid it in the dust.

He wandered around the cell, watching for signs of activity, but the closest human life was 200 metres away, a speck in the glazed heat of the desert.

He returned to the doorway. He pressed his fingers to the dirt-flecked door. The metal burned his hands, and he wiped them on his pants to no effect and tried again. The hinges groaned as he quickly pushed it open and held it open by his back.

Light filtered into the dark cell, and finally he could clearly see the pitiful inside of the dusty hell. He could see the woman – she was in the same position as the night before, a crumpled heap in the corner. Now she was bathed in light, she looked even worse. Her skin was sallow and tight, the red scratches gleaming. He bent down on one knee, his pants immediately becoming soaked in dirt. He gently rocked her back and forth.

No response.

He shook her slightly harder, but still she didn't move. He had to wake her up somehow. He couldn't try pinching her – she was in enough pain and probably wouldn't feel it anyway.

He brought his hands to his waist. A cannister of water hung loosely from his belt. The water was his days' provisions, but it was a worthy reason to give it up. He opened her mouth and titled the bottle to her mouth, hoping he was doing it right and not choking her.

The woman responded as soon as the water hit her throat. Her eyes flickered and opened slowly. They began to flitter shut again but Booth shook her gently to keep her awake. Finally she seemed to recognise he was there.

"Who...who are you?" she croaked. She sounded scared, as though he was another guard, come to cause her terror. But Booth made sure that he wasn't mistaken.

"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth," he spoke slowly, knowing she probably wasn't too receptive at the current moment. "I'm from the FBI in America. I'm here to save you." Gee, that sounded corny. "Now, listen, can you sit up?"

The woman nodded and tried to force herself to a sitting position, but as soon as her weight fell on her wrists she cried out in pain and fell to the floor again. Booth looked at her wrists – they were swollen and bloody. He slivered his arm underneath her and gentley lifted her up. He rested her head against his shoulder to give her support, and she was grateful. Her head sunk into him. He offered her his water and she gladly began to gulp it down.

While she drunk Booth explained what was happening. "Tonight, I'll be here with a guard, Brason."

At the sound of his name, her eyes shot wide open. He could see the fear dancing in the blue. "Please..." she whimpered.

"No, don't worry. I'm playing along. Look, tonight he said he'd bring me here to hit you. But don't worry-", he reassured her before she could say anything, "I won't. I'm going to take him down and get you out of here and back home, safely," he promised.

"Now, I need you to stay still when we come in – pretend you're unconcious. If he knows you're awake, he'll make it worse." She nodded, knowing this was true.

"I'll tell you what to do after he's out. It may take a while to get him fully down and out, so you can't move, even if he hits you, ok?"

She nodded, understanding. He carefully wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I know how hard this must be for you, and I know that I can't say anything to make you feel better, but I promise you, I will get you out of here and back home to..?"

"America. I live in DC."

"Alright. Now, look, I wish I could help your injuries, but if I do Brason and Bruce will get suspicious, and that could mean more trouble for you." He held out the water bottle once more, encouraging her to finish it. She took it and drained it until not even drops splashed out of the opening.

"Thankyou...Seeley?"

"Booth. Don't call me Seeley."

"Ok," she whispered, beginning to close her eyes again. "I'm...Temperance..." Her words cut off as she fell into a deep, painful slumber. Looks like she might not have to fake being unconcious tonight, Booth thought, worried.

He wondered how he would get her to safety in her condition, unnoticed.

He quietly slipped out of the cell, wishing he could do more to help, but the guards would definantly know it was him – he was the only guard on duty at this cell. He quickly ran out into the baking sun, burning him in microseconds. He shut the door, sliding the bar back into place, enveloping the cell into darkness once more.

* * *

Sorry if some of the lines and actions seem a bit corny or cliched. Please leave your thoughts!


	10. Time to Die

Easter Friday so i was able to update. Im on holidays for 2 weeks now so i'm going to try and update every day. Thankyou for the reviews last chapter - please keep them coming

* * *

Mosquitos tortured his head as he waited for Brason. Sand slithered around and over his feet, the tiny particles tempting him to swipe them off. The darkness was like a cloak over the desert, but the stars were brilliant balls of fire. In his mind, _Aqua_ began to sing, with the words of "Barbie Girl" dancing around his brain. Unconsciously, his foot began to tap to the imaginary beat. Soon his mouth was moving to the lyrics, his head nodding. His shoulders moved up and down as his brain screamed the song.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. His dance moves suddenly stopped as he turned to face a curious Brason. His arms immediately dropped by his side and he stood to attention.

"Soldier," Brason said.

"Sir," Booth replied awkwardly.

Brason looked as though he was about to comment on Booth's strange dance moves. "What were you doing?"

"Um, well, uh," Booth stuttered. "I was recently listening to 'Hot Blooded' and it's still in my head." It was the first song he could think of.

"Hot blooded?"

"Yeah, by _Foreigner_." Brason still looked quizzical. "You know, the band?" Blink. "' Don't let go?' Never mind."

Brason looked amused, and then his face turned stony again. "Alright," he grunted. "Bruce shouldn't be too far away, then we'll go in."

Booth's insides reacted at the name, but he tried not to show it. "Bruce?" he asked.

"Yeah, the other guard that's been helping me hit the little lady. He'll be joining us tonight."

This was going downhill. "Will he be going in there with us? I mean, there's not much room."

"We'll fit." Brason closed the subject by folding his arms across his huge bare chest and turning away from Booth. Booth crouched down and pretended to tie his bootlace, but really he just had to gather his thoughts. What would he do know? He would never be able to take two of them down. He had known it would be hard taking down Brason alone, but geez. He didn't know if he could save her AND survive this night.

He heard running footsteps behind him and pushed himself up, the feeling returning to his legs. He turned, watching the shadow of a man, too bullky to look good running, scampering towards them. Brason reached into his back pocket and pulled out a torch. He switched it on, the beam creating a pool of brilliant yellow, its light spreading out for what seemed like miles in the dark, and spilled its colour onto the approaching figure, and Booth could tell he was in trouble.

The man was bigger then Brason. His muslces were well defined, suggesting years of hard training. He looked like the commander of an army, huge and fierce. His hair was shaved close to his head, much like the rest of the men on guard in this waste-land. And the one thing that stood out most the Booth – he had a shotgun holstered to his hip. A simple, light weapon, easy and quick to pull out, even for those with slow reflexes. It was the best weapon for cops to use – if any sudden danger, they would be ready.

Or in Bruce's case, if anyone suddenly needed to be kept quiet, it would be ready.

Bruce was quickly in front of them. Booth could tell even in the artificial light that he was sweating – obviously he wasn't very fit. Brason immediately grabbed him and held him steady.

"Bruce, this is Booth – that soldier I told you about."

Bruce offered a pudgy hand. "Good to meet you."

Booth nodded, but didn't say anything. He certaintly felt it wasn't good to see _him._

The men stood in an awkward silence, cut only by the hum of wild nightlife. Brason was the first to speak. "Let's go in." It wasn't an invitation, it was a command.

This time it was Bruce who unlocked and opened the vast metal door. The darkness inside was immeasurable. He waited for Brason to spread the light into the cell instead of out in the night. When he did, the light filled the entire cell, top to bottom, the walls turning a bright yellow instead of its original dirty brown.

He could see Temperance curled in the corner, in exactly the same position as the previous night. This both sent a cloud of relief and a jolt of distress in his stomach. Being awake would be even worse then being unconcious – she would be able to feel every sliver of blood, every cut mark, every bruise whenever she breathed. She would be aware of everything that was happening, and she would cry out every time she was hit, an anguished scream of pain. Booth winced at the thought.

Bruce noticed. "You ok, soldier? If not, I recommend you get out of here."

"No, I'm ok."

"It can be overwhelming, I know. Even if you have seen her before, it's always hard. But it'll go away."

Booth nodded, swallowing. He stepped further into the cell. He heard the door bang shut behind him. He turned. "In case a night wanderer or guard sees," Brason explained. Booth once again nodded. He felt like a rat trapped in a cage, hating its prison and wanting to escape, but unable to do anything about it.

Brason walked over to Temperance. He bent down and rolled her onto her back. Booth was hoping her eyes wouldn't flutter or show any signs of movement, but she appeared to be oblivious. He tilted his head and smiled a malicious smile. "She's still as beautiful as ever," he snickered. He stood up and stared down at her. Then his face contorted and he slammed his leg into the side of her stomach. Her body flopped like a rag doll as the force rolled her over onto her side. Her arms were limp, a sure sign that she was out. Her head rolled to the side and slammed against the dirt floor.

Brason took a step back and motioned that Bruce could go next. He took one step forward, his footprint creating a soft mark in the dust. He ran his greedy eyes smugly over her body, wondering where he should leave a mark. The problem was that nearly her whole body was covered with either blood or purple bruises. The glimmer in his eyes suggested that he was planning on doing something dangerous. He knelt down next to her and rolled her back over. Then he picked up her wrist gently and held it as though he was holding a slice of cake. It looked unnatural for a thick burly man to be gentle with _anything._

Before Booth could acknowledge what Bruce was doing, he had bent her wrist back. An audible _snap_ filled the closed cell.

She didn't even move.

Booth stood by, unmoving. It was horrific what these guys were doing to this poor woman – she probably hadn't done anything wrong but obey orders and identify victims.

Bruce got up and dusted his hands. "Job done. Pain caused. And I feel pretty good. Alright, Booth, it's your turn."

Booth walked forward sturdily. He was careful not to show any emoiton. Before bending down, he took a glance behind him. The guards stood there, emotionless expressions etched upon their thick faces. They were waiting for him to hit the woman so they could leave. He turned his head back and looked down.

Temperance was lying awkwardly, her legs curled and her arms at an odd angle. The damaged wrist hung loosely. Her head was resting on her shoulder, and her face looked puffy and swollen. He desperately didn't want to hit her, but knew there was no other choice. So he swung his fist, hard. He felt it collide with her jaw. He immediately regretted it and knew he would never forgive himself. And he had promised her he wouldn't hit her....

"Good job, kid," Bruce spoke from behind. "Want to do another one?"

Booth stood up. "No, that's fine," he said and tried to walk past them and out into the night air. But they blocked his path.

"Booth, when we ask if you want to hit her again, we mean you _will_ hit her again."

"No." Booth couldn't believe what he was doing. He was disobeying orders from guys who could easily kill him. He felt the strong grip of a sausage hand grab his arm and turn him around, pushing him down towards the body.

He landed on his hands and knees beside her. As he sat up, he heard a growl in his right ear, but he couldn't tell who it was from such a close distance. "Hit her again. Unless, of course, you don't want to _hit _her, but instead....." he let the words hang dead. Booth knew what he was referring to and couldn't be more disgusted. He wondered whether now was the time to make a move, to _try_ and save the woman?

In other words, was now the time to die?

* * *

Sorry about the barbie girl - just a random thought that popped into my head and it wouldn't go away, so i put it in.

Please tell me if you think the story is becoming too cliched or needs some more twists or new characters or anything. I will try and update tomorrow, and any ideas would be great.

Thankyou for reading!


	11. Now What?

Im sorry, once again I broke my promise. So I won't promise this time, I'll just say that I'll TRY to update as soon as possible

Once again, thanks to those who reviewed last chapter, and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review this chapter and give me some IDEAS!!!! Im sorry, but I'm desperate.

And I apologise if this chapter is a bit of a repeat but I like to have a bit of Brennan in there to, considering she's usually unconcious.

Thanks guys!

* * *

Brennan lay still, breathing heavily. Her arm was uncomfrotable under the weight of her body, and her legs were stiff from being curled for over an hour. She guessed that it would be dark right about now, but she couldn't be sure. The best she could do was to wait.

She remembered what Booth had said. To stay put. Act unconcious. But her mind was fuzzy, and as eyes struggling to stay open, she knew her acting would be over very shortly. She wondered why a guy like him would want to save a girl like her – she had no cause to live, and she didn't really care any more. Her mind was constantly nagging at her to give up, let go, give in to the dark abyss, but her heart was telling her to fight.

But Brennan had always listened to her head. She trusted her brain more then her heart. She didn't know what to do.

She heard voices draw closer outside. Immediately she shut her eyes and lay perfectly still, even though she was facing the wall.

Following the storyline with her ears, she heard somone bang against the cold metal door, unleashing the pole from its restraints. The force sounded as though it was one of the larger men, either Bruce or Brason, but she couldn't be sure. Usually she could do the simple math in her head, but her brain had stopped working days ago.

She felt foolish for wondering who it was – the matter was unimportant. Right now she should be concerned for what was to come, for her life.

Her ears keen, she heard the thump as the pole was thrown into the dirt. The familiar creak of the opening door was not reassuring, and her eyes flickered behind their closed lids as she tried to feign unconciousness. Moonlight flooded onto the floor, and she watched as the dirt next to her face was lit up, colourful as Christmas lights. She felt the ground vibrate as the men stepped closer.

And then a sound she dreaded.

The door closed.

Now there was no chance of escape.

As if there ever was.

She tried to slow her breathing. She couldn't see what was happening, and her ears were decieving her now. All she could do was to wait until they beat her, and base what was happening from the pain.

The first touch happened quicker then she expected. She was grabbed fiercly by the arm, and she struggled to remain still as she was rolled onto her back. She tried not to make it too obvious that she was acting, adn that wasn't too hard. She couldn't move her arms or legs anyway. They rolled with the motion.

She waited for the next blow, and she felt it in the side of her stomach. Her breath flew out of her mouth, and she struggled to take more in as she composed herself without moving. The force pushed her back onto her side, now crushing her arm. Her side ached, and she could feel an old wound split open, causing fresh blood to sliver down her stomach and create a puddle on the floor, staining her already filthy shirt. She felt her head roll and smash into the ground, white light flashing behind her eyes momentarily. She felt weak, her stomach growling in rage, and she just wanted it all to stop.

She wondered whether she should actually _let _them kill her. It would make all the pain stop, all her problems go away.

She was furious with herself for thinking that. She was a fighter, and always had been. And even in the few seconds she had met him, she trusted Booth, and knew he would find a way to get her out of this hell.

While her thoughts were regathering, she felt someone gently pick up her wrist. She wondered whether it was Booth, and whether the guards had gone.

And then the gentle touch turned to a bind of hate. The hand squeezed her wrist, and brought it back.

The pain was too much to bear. She felt her eyes roll into her head. Fire shot up her arm and seemed to spread around her body, all centered at the damaged bone. She desperately needed to scream, to cry out for help, to make the pain stop. Her arm flung limply to her side, and she had to force herself not to clutch it, not to even twitch from the pain the fire was causing.

She concentrated on breathing slowly, deeply, dragging her thoughts _away_ from the core of her anguish. Her heat gradually became slower, and though she was still in agony, she was able to concentrate.

It seemed as though hours passed before she felt the next hand. But she knew this one was him. It was softer, a more caring touch, a touch that told her it was all ok. It was on her hip, and she knew he would have made it look as though he was wondering what to do.

It was telling her that he was there for her. Inwardly, she smiled. Despite the pain, the agony, the hell she was in, she suddenly felt a moment of bliss.

But she was decieved once more.

The closed fist hit her hard in her already swollen jaw. Her head snapped back from the blow, but it was nothing compared to the pain she felt inside.

He had promised her that she would be safe.

He had promised her that he wouldn't hit her.

He had promised her that everything was going to be okay, and that he would get her out of her prison.

And now he had betrayed her.

She felt her heart break, and that was even more painful then all her injuries put together. She didn't often feel like she had a connection to someone, but she knew that there had been something there.

In her mind, she promised that she would get revenge, in whatever form it came in.

She shut her eyes tightly and winced. She waited for the next blow, maybe a stomp on her cracked leg or another kick or punch.

Her ears heard it first. They began to argue, talk. But her mind was dizzy, and she struggled to make out the conversation. They began to get louder, screaming orders. Even in the confined space it was inaudible.

She felt the ground vibrate once more as a large force hit the ground. She wanted to turn her head in interest, inwardly hoping they were fighting and that someone would be hurt.

But then she felt the force roll against her. It was one of the men – she couldn't tell who. They lay still, their back flat against hers. She heard movement as they moved over whoever it was, but she couldn't see what they were doing. She sneaked a chance, and opened a sliver of her eye.

The wall confronted her.

Damn, she still wouldn't be able to see anything anyway.

She closed her eyes again and waited impatiently for the men to leave. They fumbled around some more, and then she at last heard the door slam shut.

She waited a bit before moving.

She managed to push herself up on her good hand, and took in several deep breaths before turning.

Looking down, she saw that the body on the ground belonged to Seeley Booth.

Now what?


	12. Surrender

So, I updated in a few days rather then a few weeks, which is good. Thankyou all SOOOOOO much for the ideas - Gallaghergirl1 (Brooke) and BandBFOREVER55. I'll try to update ASAP again and please remember to review on your way out with a comment or constructive criticisim to help make me a better writer.

Have a good one!

* * *

Booth wasn't moving. Brennan guessed the guards had knocked him out and left him to die with her. She ran her eyes over him. His white singlet top was covered with dirt, creating patterned smudges in the cotton. It was ripped in pieces, with large chunks missing and loose threads tangling together. His once-shiny boots were scuffed, and his cheek looked swollen and bloody.

He was on his side, his back against where hers lay moments before. His head was lying in the dirt, mixing into his hair. But the objects that surprised and horrified her most were the ties.

They had used strips of white cotton to bind his hands behind him. Brennan guessed they were from his shirt. She gently rolled him to get a better view in the half-light. His wrists were red from the material cutting into him, and feeling over the knot, Brennan knew it would take a while to get undone. It was tied expertly, by someone with military experience. But she was disgusted even more by the gag tied in his mouth. It was filthy, and Brennan knew it would be hard to breathe.

She wondered why they had tied him up. He was trapped in here – there was no possible way to get out. He already looked weak...

Maybe that was why. So he wouldn't fight back.

Brennan gently layed her hand on his shoulder and shook him. He responded vaguely, a deep, gutteral groan emitting from deep in his throat. He blinked multiple times, squeezing his eyes open and shut to adjust them to the darkness. He turned and saw Brennan.

"Mrrrhmmurrrrr," he muttered, trying to speak through the gag.

"I could say the same to you," she joked, and for the first time in what seemed like weeks, she smiled. Booth responded with a half-grin. Booth shuffled his body and, with Brennan's help, managed to sit up.

"I'll try to untie the gag," she whispered, and brought her arms up to the back of his head.

Immediately pain spasmed through them and she dropped them to the ground. Her wrist banged against the dirt and she cried out with pain. Booth's eyes opened wide in worry and he tried to shift towards her, but she held her palms up.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," she whimpered. She brought her arms up again, ignoring the seering pain. She felt for the knot, and finding it, found it tied as tightly as the ones binding his wrists.

"This may take awhile," she warned him. He nodded. He slowly shuffled foward and fell onto his stomach. Brennan watched in confusion as he wriggled back so his head was lying next to her. Then Brennan understood. He was making it easier for her to untie him. She was grateful. She was already in enough pain.

Her fingers slid under the knot, and she tried to loosen the material with her nail. Dirt cascaded out from his hair and onto the floor. Her nail broke from the strain and fell in the grave of dirt. Her fingers scrabbled under the knots, but they were tied too tightly. She grunted and brought her hands down.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's too hard."

She felt pain, defeat. Never before had she uttered those words, and never had she planned to.

Booth nodded, understanding, but she could see the pain and despair in his eyes. He rolled over onto his back, his brown eyes gazing towards the dirt sky.

She managed to slide herself over so she was beside his head. Gingerly she reached down and took hold of the bind. Booth gazed at her as she tried to slide the gag down.

It wouldn't budge.

She knew he wouldn't fancy this, but there was no other choice. Tentatively, she slid her fingers over his mouth. He sensed what she was about to do and opened his lips wider. She slid her fingers in and firmly grasped the material. She pulled, and the gag slid out of his mouth. She took her hand out and used it to slide the material down around his neck.

His mouth free, Booth began to take deep, heavy breaths.

"Thankyou," he grunted in appreciation.

"Sorry I had to...do....that," she said, referring to his mouth.

"Oh, yeah, no, that's cool," he said awkwardly. He used his hands to push down on the ground and sit up.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to untie your hands," she felt sorry for him. Because of her, he couldn't be truly free.

Booth saw the hurt in her eyes. "Hey, that's ok. We'll find a way. We'll work this out, together. OK? It's going to be fine."

A single tear slid down Brennan's cheek. "Really?" For a brief moment, she believed that. Despite everything she had been through, she believed it would all turn out ok.

"Yes. I promise you."

_I promise you._

Suddenly she turned angry. "I don't know whether I can trust your promises any more, Booth."

Booth's eyes rose in confusion. "What are you talking abou...oh."

Brennan, like a child, turned her head the other way, folded her arms, and stuck her chin up high.

"Temperance, you saw those guys! If I didn't do as they said, they would have killed me, then you would have absolutely no chance of getting out of here. Trust me, when I hit you, I was loathing myself. I almost surrended myself to them so I wouldn't have to. I did it for you, Temperance. You don't know how hard that was for me to do."

More tears were flowing down her cheeks, and she had to take short, rugged breaths. Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed in defeat.

"Brennan," she whispered. "Temperance Brennan."

Booth tried to remember where he had heard that name before. And then it came to him – the world-known anthropologist and author. He squinted in the darkness, and his eyes looked past her bruises, the blood and the dirt. He saw the resembelance to the photo on the back of her books. It was really her.

She looked like crap at the moment though.

So how did a famous author end up in a dirt cell in El Salvador?


	13. Visualizations

They both lay back against the wall, silent, aware of the heated tension. Brennan was still feeling mixed emotions, but she decided to let that pass. They had to agree with each other to get through this.

Booth's head was leaned back on the wall, the dust combining with the already-formed clumps of dirt. He sighed and shook his head, trying to rid his hair of its invaders.

Both felt like they should offer an explanation. Both wanted to know the others past and reasons for being here. Both just wanted something to break the ice, but were too physically and mentally exhausted to do much at all.

Booth was the first to crack. "So you're a writer?" He knew he was creating meaningless conversation, but he had to break this silence.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm very skilled. I've been on the bestsellers list for quite some time."

"Huh," Booth grunted, unsure how to respond. "Are you working on anything new?"

"Yes, a book with the core idea of de-fleshed corpses and sexual intercourse in many different places."

Now Booth was feeling uncomfortable. "Wow, um, can't wait to read that."

"Yes, I expect it to be quite good."

Booth admired the modesty of this woman. He liked to occasionally hear someone who acknowledged their achievements. It was a welcome change from those complaining they weren't good at anything and constantly having to be reassured.

Booth stretched his back, the material binding his wrists straining. He lifted his hands up and began to search for the knot. He saw Brennan start to get up off the wall, noticing what he was trying to do.

"Please, let me help. I hate seeing you like this, and I think I have enough strength to do it now."

Booth doubted that. Her skin stuck to her bones, and she was sickly pale. He doubted she had enough strength to do much at all. But she seemed like a woman unwilling to back down, and she might be able to loosen it at least.

Obligingly, he turned around so his back was facing her. She once more slid her hands through the cotton. Her fingers made a slight give, and she used this to her advantage. She wriggled her finger up and down, creating an even larger gap. Eventually, she could fit more fingers through. Her fingers grabbed the thick section of the material and pulled.

To her relief, the section of cotton gave way, releasing itself. After that she was able to pull the entire knot free.

Booth wriggled his wrists, glad at the freedom of movement he now had. He rubbed the red marks created by the binds. They stung, but there was not much he could do about that.

He crawled back over against the wall, and Brennan did the same. He turned his head towards her. "Thank you," he said, and he meant it."

Brennan nodded. "Same to you," she whispered, but it was audible in the silent cell. But he wasn't exactly sure what that meant. So far he had done nothing to help her, and he still felt guilty about breaking his promise.

He didn't want to warn her that he would probably have to break another one too – that he would get them out of here. Safely. He knew there was little chance of that.

"How long have you been in here?" he asked. He had been in El Salvador for roughly three days, and she had been in here before he had arrived. "I'm not entirely sure," he heard her voice beginning to fade. "I don't know if it's been days, weeks or months."

He guessed a week, maybe more. Without food or water, it was a miracle she had survived as long as she had. And he knew she wouldn't survive much longer.

He began to wonder if Bruce and Brason would return. With both of them in here, would they continue torturing her? Him? Both of them? He didn't care _what _they did to him – he couldn't let them hurt Brennan any more. He would strike a deal with them – kill him and let her go free.

But knowing them, they'd kill him first then kill her.

He dropped his head in his hands. He felt a hand lay gently on his shoulder and he looked up. Brennan smiled at him. "It'll be fine, Booth."

He laughed inside. _She _was the one in the struggling condition. _He _was meant to be reassuring _her_. Seemed he wasn't too strong at the moment.

He wondered what was going through Brennan's head. Was she scared? Worried? Wondering what her future was? Or was she calm, knowing that there would be no future soon, and accepting that? He glanced at her. Her face was completely smoothed over, no emotion whatsoever. He glanced at her hands, twisting in her lap.

He was no psychologist, but he could tell by her actions that she was anxious.

Well, why shouldn't she be? She was waiting for him to do something. Waiting for the guards to return and attack them till they were bloody heaps on the ground.

Now he felt anxious.

He heard a scraping noise outside. Simultaneously, their heads snapped up, glancing towards the door. He heard Brennan give a slight whimper. The door rattled, and inside his head he could picture the pole sliding. He heard the thud. He visualized Bruce or Brason stepping fiercely towards the door, preparing to intimidate and beat them. He imagined their muscles bulging, their back sizzling in the hot midday sun – if it _was _sunny.

As if in slow motion, the door gradually opened. Light filtered in, blinding him momentarily. He could vaguely make out a thick, burly shape. He blinked multiple times.

There were two thick, burly shapes.

As if in some lame, romance/action movie, like a warrior desperate to save a village girl, he stood up and held out his palm.

"Leave her," he demanded. His voice came out weak, and his hand was shaking. He felt so corny. The guards did too. They chuckled at his attempt.

"What are you gonna do, boy? Knock us out?" They laughed again, deep, guttural murmurs.

"I have a proposal. Kill me. Let her go." Gee, he was _really _going by the movies on this one. He hadn't even thought this through. At this stage, the guards were bent over double, laughing with disbelief. He knew he could try and escape, but that was foolish.

"I'm serious."

This sent the men into even bigger fits of laughter. Finally, they managed to right themselves. They turned to each other and shrugged.

"Alright," Bruce nodded. "What are your terms?"

* * *

* * *

Sorry there was no drama in this chapter and it was kinda pointless, but i had to lead to the last idea. Thankyou to Gallaghergirl1 and BandBFOREVER once again, for the basic idea. Please review - leave your thoughts, comments, criticism - anything is welcome! and I'll try to update as soon as possible


	14. Danger

I cant apologize enough for not updating, and i really have no excuse. of course i've been busy with assignments and work and what-not but really, i should have updated, and so i hope you guys can forgive me for that.

Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter as well.

* * *

Brennan gasped inwardly as she heard Booth's proposition.

_He's an idiot_. That was the first thing that came to mind.

Why the hell was he risking his life to "save" her? Didn't he know that they'd just kill him, and then kill her anyway?

Clearly he hadn't thought his "plan" through.

But it still meant something to her.

"Booth, don't do it," she desperately tried to cry, but her weak plea was unheard by his ears. His fists were clenching by his sides, and she could see that they were white with pressure, his veins trying to break free of their confines.

She was answered by Bruce, who snapped at her to stay quiet. She withdrew from her argument, knowing there was nothing she could do but watch and listen as they decided her fate, and his.

She hated being the one sitting, not making the decisions. It was unnatural for her, and she didn't welcome change easily.

Unconciously, she sifted dirt through her fingers, crumbling it down to a fine sand as she waited. Booth was eyeing the two guards, the intense silence increasing. They were trying to intimidate Booth, but he wasn't falling under them.

"So, boy, what are your terms?" Bruce grunted.

Booth answered almost immediately. "She leaves now. You take her back to base where she's under care and can get something to eat. Once I know she's safe, I'll surrender, and you can kill me."

"No!" Brennan cried out. Brason walked forward, and in two steps he was in front of her and had slapped her across the cheek. Her head flung to the side as the pain pinched her face. A red mark appeared immediately. Her hands automatically came to her cheek to smother the pain, and she winced. Brason walked back to his original spot, looking pleased with himself.

Brennan felt something inside her that she had never felt before.

Loathing. Utter loathing for these horrific monsters.

Looking at Booth's face, she could tell that he felt the same way. His face was scrunched with something like pain – watching her still being tortured. His eyes were bright yet dark, the fury that was burrowed boiling to the surface. He looked as though he was about to snap – which could get them _both_ killed.

Brennan tried to think of a way that she could help her...what was he? Friend? Partner? Person who shared her peril?

A sudden thought entered her mind and her lips curled in a snigger as the idea began to fold out. But she would have to be careful.

She needed a shoe. But hers had been removed the first day she had been thrown in here. She was still pantless with her shirt in tatters.

"Booth," she whispered, at a level that she knew the guards wouldn't be able to hear her, but Booth would. She saw his eyes flicker in acknowledgement.

"I need your shoes."

She could tell he was having trouble not to react to this. His eyebrows rose and moved towards each other very slightly, the lines on his forehead becoming more predominant. The guards seemed not to have noticed the change in his expression. Booth seemed willing to comply to her strange idea, and she could tell he was confused.

But she could also tell that he trusted her.

Ever so slowly, almost agonizingly slowly, he pushed his weight onto one foot and tried to scrape his shoe on the ground, hoping it would slide off.

But the guards saw him moving, saw the eye contact break slightly.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bruce growled.

Brennan watched as Booth struggled for an answer. And true, there wasn't many that made sense in this situation. "I... my...feet hurt," he said lamely. "Sometimes they hurt at home and I take off my shoes to relieve them."

Brennan had to fight the urge to slap her head. That was the best he could think of?

The guards burst into laughter once more. "Oh, poor baby," they teased in baby-like voices. "Do you need your mummy to make you some hot milk?" They bent over double, laughing again.

This gave Booth the time he needed to slip off his shoes and kick them back to Brennan. She caught them, and pushed them by her side, into the shadows. By the time the guards had composed themselves, they had forgotten all about the shoes.

Booth spoke up again. "So, the deal? Do you accept?"

From where she was sitting, she could see the sacrifice in his eyes. She wanted to scream at him, tell him he was an idiot, that he shoudn't waste his life when hers was nearly over anyway. But she knew she would be punished, and if she was hit any more she may become even more of an obstacle for Booth.

The guards' faces scrunched as they thought it through. She really didn't see why they should have to. It would just create an even bigger annoyance. Why didn't they just say no and kill her? It would save everyone the trouble of talking about it.

She wondered if now was the right time, before anyone did anything rash and make agreements which would have to be accepted or compromised. Gingerly, she picked up one of Booth's shoes, and tried to muster all her body power into her right arm. She knew this could easily fail as she was weak, but she had to do anything to help Booth.

She lifted her arm, pulled it behind her head and threw.

Bullseye!

It hit Brason square on the head, knocking him out momentarily and giving him a bloody nose at the same time. She picked up the other shoe, but she knew her power was draining away. She threw it, but it fell short of Bruce.

She saw his face. She knew they were in danger.

She impulsively ducked as the gunshot echoed around the cell. She heard a sharp grunt of pain, and felt the floor vibrate as Booth's body fell to the ground.

Oh God, what had she done?

She crawled forward. Bruce was concentrating on Booth, who was lying in pain, clutching his arm. It didn't seem to be a major wound, but it would be a problem.

By the time Bruce noticed her, her foot had already connected with his crotch. He bent down in pain, a high-pitched squeaking emiiting from his mouth. She crawled once again over to Booth, checking to see if he needed immediate help, but he was okay for the moment. He smiled at her, his eyes congratulating her more than words could. He stood up and pulled her up with him, steadying her as she swayed helplessly. She knew her injuries were going to slow them both down, especially her ankle.

Nonetheless, he wrapped her arm around his shoudler and began to walk forward strongly, while she limped by his side. They passed Bruce, and he connected his shoeless foot with the side of his head. This silenced him for awhile longer. Booth walked past him and kicked the door open, planning on making a heroic exit, with the scared woman by his side.

Then she heard them begin to stir once more, composing themselves and planning revenge.

She turned to face the open desert, already trying to run away.

* * *

Sorry about the shoe :) I really didnt want to have the whole cliche escape. Thanks to fia and her AMAZING ideas and support :D and any ideas from you guys would be great. Thanks for reading, and i PROMISE i will update soon :)


	15. Change of Scenery

I promise this has been the only time i have been able to update. Ive been out hiking the past few days and didnt get in till about 11 on the nigths before hand. So i apologise i didnt really keep my promise (again) but at least its not a whole month break.

I also apologise for the change of setting later in this chapter. I know it completely contradicts what ive been saying in the past chapters but i needed some new drama. (Hint: goes into bush. I know ive said its been desert, and i apologise that im changing stuff, but otherwise itd be a typical ending or something, so it was the only thing i could think of).

Thankyou to all those who reviewed last chapter, and id really appreciate if you review this chapter too. i like when people either tell me how to fix something, or what went wrong, or encouragements. it helps me to gradually become a better writer. Ideas are also welcome :)

* * *

Booth regrettably let go of Brennan, holding her for a moment longer while he made sure she was steady. Once her feet were planted firmly, he ran back to the door, gripping the edge of the metal tightly. His right arm stung from the wound, and he quickly let go and used his left instead. He swung the door shut, using his foot to hurry the process. It shut with a dull clang, and quickly he began to search for the metal pole. It was still quite light, but his time in the cell has limited his vision. He swung his hands blindly until he found the pole. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the sun as he lifted it and tried to return it to its home behind the metal.

The pole began to burn in his hand, still hot from the sun. He quickly dropped it, not needing another injury to slow them down. Already he could hear them moving inside. He had to start moving, to get away before they exited the cell. He ran back to Brennan, swinging her bruised and bloody arm around his shoulder once more, half carrying her away from the cell.

One look at her face and he could tell she was in pain. Even though most of her weight was on him every movement, every bump was torture. But there wasn't much he could do, and he was sure that she accepted that.

But with another fleeting glance, he could see fresh blood trailing down her lips. He could also see the strain of her mouth as her teeth bit into flesh. New determination filled him, and he pushed on harder.

The land stretched out before him, the tent of safety seemingly miles away. Brennan was beginning to lose consciousness from the heat, and her head was beginning to flop forward. There was nowhere they could hide, and he knew they would be in terrible danger if they decided to unleash their guns.

He thought he heard the sound of metal clash against metal, but he didn't know if that was just his imagination, adrenaline creating sounds, his panic becoming a disability. But then he felt a sharp force whip past his arm, an inch from Brennan's head. He turned back, and saw one of the men standing in the doorway. He was amazed at the length they had come, what with their injuries and condition, and he couldn't even decipher which man was standing, and which man was crouching behind him, still trying to get to his feet.

He turned his head back to the front, the tent gradually coming closer. The bright green and white of the marquee seemed like a mirage, but he knew it was all too real, just like the enemies behind him. It was like a scene in a movie.

He felt another bullet just miss his left arm, and tried to shrink smaller while still running. Brennan was fully unconscious by now, unaware of the chase and the danger. He just wanted to put her down somewhere safe, hoping she wouldn't have to get hurt any more. Any more blood spilled could kill her.

Another bullet sped past them, but this time it cut into his arm on its way, only a few inches below his other wound. He growled in pain, and clutched his arm, still running.

And then the bullet slammed into his leg.

He grunted, and fell to the ground. His arm fell loose of Brennan, and she slammed into the dirt beside him. He clutched his leg, feeling the blood flow through his finger. He could see his vision beginning to haze and he blinked. He saw Brennan's eyes flutter as she woke from the fall. She glanced up at him, and she tried to get up, falling down again as the weight on her wrists became unbearable.

This gave him new strength, seeing her beaten body, seeing the similarities to that of a rag doll. He stood up, shaking as his leg seared. He winced, but limped to Brennan's side, lifting her up again. They both turned to look behind them at the same time, and saw the guards beginning to move towards them. They had time, but not much. They had to keep moving, to get to camp. They would be safe there.

They tried to run again, Brennan crying out in pain with each step, but she refused when Booth offered to help again. Booth tried not to grunt every time his weight fell on his right leg. He grabbed her hand, trying to gently pull her along. The tent didn't seem to be moving, and this discouraged him.

He had a sudden thought. What would happen when they got to the campsite? Sure, the guards couldn't do anything in front of anyone else, but as soon as night came, their guns would be upon them once more. There was no plane out for a few days. They still wouldn't be safe.

His eyes darted around, looking for an alternative. He saw a small, bush-like area not too far away to his left, and he wondered whether it would keep them cover, if not for a few hours. They could find food there – surely Brennan would know some leaves or berries that were edible? They could sneak off to camp at night, under the safety of the team members. And if the guards tried to follow, they could easily hide in the shrub until they left.

Booth made a decision. He turned towards the bush, receiving startled and worried looks from Brennan. Nevertheless, she followed him, her limp still slowing them down. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the guards' confusion, but still they followed. Booth ran faster, if that was possible, hearing Brennan whimper in pain as she tried to keep up.

The bush arrived faster then he expected. One moment it seemed an age away, the next they were about to enter its green doorway. He glanced around one more time before taking Brennan's hand and leading her through.

He put his hand to his mouth as he crouched behind a bush, indicating for her to do the same. She ducked beside him, her eyes holding many questions, but her mouth stayed shut. With a fleeting glance around, he could tell the bush was much larger and thicker then he had expected. This place was perfect. For the moment.

Minutes went by, until finally they heard the guards enter the shrub, their voices filling the thick air. Their boots left footprints in the soft dirt, and their eyes shredded every bush, every tree, searching for them. Booth held his breath as their eyes lingered over their very hiding spot, but then let it out again as they seemed to accept it was just greenery and no fugitives. They moved on.

They waited there, sure that the guards would return to leave the forest. Sure enough, the guards were back within minutes, complaining how they had lost them. Soon they left.

Booth waited a minute longer before finally stepping out from behind the bush. Brennan got up behind him. She waited until they were both on the path before asking questions.

"Why are we here, Booth? Why didn't we just go back to camp? Why the bush?"

Booth slowly turned to her, checking her over with his eyes. "We're not safe back at camp. Bruce and Brason will return there, and then kill you at night." He watched her eyes widen as she comprehended his plan.

His earlier question left his lips. "Do you know any edible…I don't know….berries or anything?"

"I'm an anthropologist, not a botanist," she scowled. His face fell.

"But….I do know a few basic plants that we might find here," she said, but she was still skeptical.

Oh well, anything that could get them by.

He checked her wounds. He brought his hand to her ankle, and felt her wince even though he barely touched the wound. It looked bad. Everything was infected, filled with dirt, dried blood caked everywhere. Her face was covered in scars, blood, dirt and tears, creating a type of face paint. He wondered if there was a stream in here that could help them clean up a bit.

He saw her scan him for injuries too, then saw her expression change as she caught sight of his leg wound. It was still bleeding, blood creating a thick stain on his pants. But that didn't seem to matter any more.

"Was that….them?" she asked, though she didn't have to. Who else would have created a wound this fresh?

"Look, don't worry about me," he reassured her. "Let's get you fixed up first."

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice gave her pain away. It was weak, unconfident, cracked. It was obvious she was lying, but he knew she was trying to make him feel better.

"We need to find a river, first. Get you some water. You sit here. I'll go searching."

"But-"

"Stay," he commanded, and almost pushed her to the ground. She sat down, sighing, closing her eyes as she leaned against a bush. Booth hoped she would stay conscious.

He walked away from her before he could change his mind about leaving.


	16. Swift River

Ok, I can't apologise enough. The main reason for not updating is due to my working on another story - any Wicked fans here, feel free to check it out :) My original ideas decided to leave me, and I had to try and do the best I could, trying to remember what the ideas were. So I apologise if this chapter isn't the best.

I also recently got a laptop, and am planning on using it mostly for writing. So along with that, it being holidays and my friend nagging me, I should be able to update soon.

Thanks for reading anyway, and i'd appreciate a comment at the end - I don't mind whether it's good or bad.

And Happy (late) new Years!

* * *

Booth stalked slowly through the thick bush. He had no idea how dense the shrubbery - or even a jungle - was. Dead leaves and broken twigs cracked underneath his bare feet, but they didn't register the pain. He walked with a limp, his entire side weighed down by bullet injuries. His head was matted with sweat, and he quickly wiped it off, smearing it onto his already-filthy white singlet.

He stopped suddenly, and strained his ears to hear the sound of a flowing river. He knew the water to be unsafe in this area but he was sure any water would be a relief, infected or not. Hearing no sounds but the buzzing wildlife, he stumbled forward, his head beginning to spin from the compressed air and the recent blood loss.

He looked around him to see if he could discover any leaves that seemed edible. But each tree and individual leaf looked the same to him - green and shiny. That was his extended knowledge on the subject. Finding a few long leaves, he pulled them free from its home, thinking it could create a suitable bandage, if only temporarily until they could find help.

After about ten minutes of wandering aimlessly, he came upon a river. It crawled slowly downhill, and Booth marked the territory in his minding, hoping once they had gathered more strength they could follow this river. It was common knowledge that water lead to buildings. Hopefully that included this river.

Filling up his empty flask, he followed his mown path back to the entrance of the green maze. The trees opened up and he saw Brennan lying on the ground. Amazingly, she was conscious. He knelt down beside her and offered her the leaves. She looked up at him, her eyes questioning.

"For the wounds," he explained.

"You need them more than me," she managed, indicating his bullet wounds. He chuckled.

"I don't think so."

The environment was more relaxed now that they knew they were safe. A small amount of colour had even returned to Brennan's face. Her eyes sparkled with new strength. This was enough to lift the mood in them both.

Booth reached out and smoothed the leaves onto Brennan's skin. He saw her flinch as the leaf touched the scarred flesh.

"Are you ok?" he asked gently, releasing the pressure.

"Yes, it just...it hurts." He was sure that that was an understatement. He tried again, and saw her bite her lip as she struggled to conceal the pain. It was true, leaves were not the smartest idea, but there was nothing else available to them.

While he was wrapping her leg, he nodded his head towards his hip, indicating the flask. Brennan struggled, but managed to reach over and take the water. She tipped her head back and swallowed the tainted water in large amounts. She finally brought her head forward, colour now lighting up her face.

"Thank you", she whispered. Sighing, she rolled backwards and her head fell to the ground. Booth crawled beside her, realising she had fallen unconscious once more. Either that or she had suddenly given way to a deep sleep. He reached out to a nearby bush and collected a handful of leaves. He gently lifted Brennan's head and slipped the leaves underneath, creating a thick - although maybe uncomfortable - pillow.

He slid back down to her side and continued to cover her wounds.

Now that he had time to look at her, he could see the true depth of her injuries. Every inch of her body was covered in dark red scratches, purple bruises or dirt. And if it wasn't a scratch, it was a large lump of skin that had been torn away, revealing the sensitive layers underneath.

He finished dressing the larger wounds, and moved towards the wrist. It was bent out of shape, as limp as a tortured doll. He had absolutely no medical training, but he still tried to help. He collected a large stick from nearby, and using the brilliant green leaves, connected it to her arm, creating a kind of splint. He couldn't see how he could attach a splint to the ankle, so instead he wrapped leaves around it, hoping to create some support for the shattered bone.

Seeing nothing more that he could do for the moment, he collected his own selection of foliage and created a matted pillow. As he lay down, he could feel his arm and leg throbbing, and he wondered if he should dress his own wounds. But as soon as his head touched the pillow, his mind swept blank.

He was as unconscious as his - friend, partner, person who shared the peril - beside him.

He let the day and its events slip away, as swiftly as the flowing river nearby.


	17. Fairytale

Hi, all! Many thanks for all those who reviewed, or even just read, my last chapter (or story - depends where you picked up from).

* * *

Booth groaned and reached up to clutch his throbbing head. He felt dizzy momentarily as he tried to sit up, and ending up complaining and throwing himself back onto the ground. The leaves which rested underneath his head were flattened and seemingly uncomfortable now that he was awake. His leg and arm were throbbing but he tried to ignore the pain, focusing all his energy instead on opening his eyes.

He sighed and rolled his head to the left, picking up dirt, fallen leaves and God-knows-what else in his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut and then braved opening one of them.

In a flash, he had jumped up, his body screaming in protest and agony from the sudden movement. He spun around, staring at the floor and into the surrounding flora. But there was no sign of Temperance, except for the small pillow which he had created the night before.

"Temperance?" he cried, straining his ears to hear a response, but none came but the calling of the fauna which possessed this forest. He began to walk, slowly at first as he manoeuvred his way, but quickening as his focus became more intent. He slashed away at the plants around him, leaving a flattened and destroyed path behind him. The sun was low in the sky, and he guessed that he had been asleep longer than a single night. The brilliant yellow star glared into his eyes, making vision difficult.

Once his eyes had begun to adjust, he could see movement in every direction. Animals fought playfully in the trees overhead, and the crunching leaves under his feet made him believe he was being followed by a snake or lizard. He was constantly turning his head - looking behind him, below him, above him, or straight ahead. He hadn't reached the stream, and he hadn't yet reached an open plain of land. He began to pant, and his hacking arms were becoming sore, especially his injured arm.

He slowed to a stop as he contemplated his position. Temperance was gone. He couldn't remember hearing anyone come by them that night, but he had been in a deep coma. He feared that one of the mob may have come searching and found her, taking her away - but he tried to keep that thought out of his mind. The problem was, there were not many other thoughts to take its place. He wondered whether to continue - it was getting dark fast, and he had made no progress. His best option was to get out and get help.

But he had no idea how to get out.

Rotating slowly, the thick flora seemed to press in on him, creating thick air. Knowing he had but one option, he pressed on, now not even bothering to push away the overhanging plants, instead running straight through them, earning him scrapes and gashes over his arms and face. Twigs clawed at his cheeks, and smaller plants itched at his legs. Many times he stumbled over seemingly invisible objects, and a few times he actually landed in the dirt. When this happened he would stay on the ground and wonder if he should get up or just stay there and die. He had to convince himself many times he was doing this for her. He was still confused though as to why he was. Why was he so desperate to save her? A prince in his own fairytale. He barely even knew her.

"Temperance?" he called out again, his voice hoarse. "Temperance Brennan? Where are you?" Not surprisingly, she didn't answer. He continued to run, every scratch or tear searing into his skin, making him feel as though he were running on fire.

He swivelled his head around at the sudden crack of a twig, seemingly broken somewhere rather than from under his bare foot. Not paying attention to his chosen path, he felt the log before he saw it. It slammed into his shins, sending him crashing to the ground. His feet scraped over the top of it, and he could feel his skin being torn. He landed face-down in the dirt. He didn't move, unable to will himself to return to his heroic mission.

He was unaware that his sudden fall had caused the log to roll. His face in the dirt, Booth heard the creature before he acknowledged it. He quickly sat his head up, but the darkness had now completely enveloped him. Despite his disadvantage, Booth scrabbled around and managed to stand up, squinting into the dark to see where it was.

His eyes landed on it. He wasn't an expert on animals, but this fearsome creature looked terrifying. It was a deep brown, yet spotted with blotches of black. It was quite thick, and looked as though it could kill a human being. Booth tried to remember his knowledge on snakes - it was very little. But he did know not to move.

He kept peering at the snake, hoping it would lose interest in him. The snake didn't move. After a few minutes of silence from both him and the snake, he began to walk carefully backwards. He winced as a twig snapped. In the sudden silence, it was as loud as a gunshot. The snake seemed to sense a change, and began to slither out from its hiding place underneath the log. Booth's eyes turned wide as he saw the length of the reptile - it was over a metre long. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and continued to step back slowly, trying as hard as possible not to make any noise. The snake continued to slowly slither towards him. Booth wondered what he should do, and even considered making a run for it.

He began to increase his speed backwards, eager to rid himself of this creature. The faster he became, the faster the snake followed. It hissed, and it seemed as though the sound came from all around him.

Unfortunately for him, he couldn't see what was behind him, for he didn't dare take his eyes off the snake even for a moment. A tree jutted in his path, and he slammed into it.

The snake continued to move towards him.

Booth tried to push himself off the tree, but his body seemed to shut down.

The snake became ever closer. His eye stared intently into the creatures.

Booth shielded himself, waiting for the blow.

The snake struck.

* * *

Gotta love cliffhangers :)

So, should the snake attack, or should Booth, using his training, use his reflexes and get away? Your choice!

Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment on your way out!


	18. As Good As Dead

Just to reassure you, I did research before I wrote these chapters, but I do apologise if there's anything wrong. More info at the end.

* * *

His body automatically reacted, as if sensing the danger without first consulting his brain. He swung around the tree, grabbing a large stick in the process. He was tempted to strike the snake with it, but he thought that would only anger it further. It already looked furious for having missed its prey. The snake slithered around the tree, searching him out with its tongue. Booth ignored all precautions and turned to run. He could hear the creature behind him; hear its body slither softly in the dirt. Hear its tongue slither out, tasting his scent.

Branches whipped out at his face, and at first he tried to bat at them with the stick, but he quickly gave up and let them mark his skin. He turned his head and could vaguely see the snake only a few metres behind him. He pushed more force into his stride, but he had little energy, and could feel himself quickly tiring.

He began to stumble as the dirt, leaves and twigs seemed to get the better of him. His feet were cut from the amount of foliage he'd stepped on. He was fully covered in sweat now, and wondered how much further he could go. As he stared ahead, struggling to take sufficient breaths, he stumbled and tripped on a tree root.

The snake took this opportunity to take its prey.

Booth began to crawl away, but the snake hadn't been chasing him for naught. Booth brandished his stick, and went to hit the beast, but it reached him first. It struck forward, and sunk its long teeth into his shin. Satisfied, it slithered away, leaving Booth clutching his leg. It was painful, and although Booth couldn't see well, he could feel it beginning to swell up. His mind began to race as he panicked - he knew next to nothing about snakes or their bites. He squeezed his eyes shut while trying to remember his high school science classes - he now wished he had bothered to listen to the teacher, instead of hitting on all the girls.

He made an instinctive decision, just trying as fast as he could to stop the venom spreading. He lifted his shirt over his head, grunting at the effort. He tore off the arms, and wrapped the shirt around his leg tightly. His leg throbbed and he winced as the material pushed down on the swollen skin. He picked up the stick he had carried with him, and wrapped it onto his leg using his shirt sleeves. His leg felt secure, and despite the circumstance, he felt proud at his work. He even managed a smile.

But although he didn't know much about snakes or first aid, he _did _know that their bites could easily kill you in a matter of hours. And this looked like a pretty big snake - maybe a python or a viper. He wasn't sure, and frankly, he didn't care. He just wanted help.

In the middle of nowhere.

He was as good as dead.

An hour later, and still he had heard nothing more than the whispers of the animals that inhabited the land. Every movement was an effort, and he didn't have much energy left. His blood felt drained, and he was struggling to stay awake. His head was beginning to pound, and he could do nothing to help it but will the pain to disappear. Multiple times he had the urge to vomit, and ended up gagging dryly into the dirt instead. He felt like hell, and assumed that he looked like it too.

Waves of nausea washed over him, and he felt heavy. He could do nothing but blink, and even thinking was an effort. He seemed to be able to feel the venom beginning to flow through his victim, and it appeared that his leg contraption was useless. Squinting, he could see a small blotch of red staining his shirt, and he sighed. Now he was losing even more blood. He really didn't know how much he had left to spare. He almost wanted this to be over - let the snake kill him. Then he wouldn't have to deal with all this pain - the physical and the mental.

Using all his energy, he cried out and clutched his leg. Deep in his mind, he wished that someone had somehow heard his cry, and would come to investigate. But he knew there was a slim chance of that happening. It was pitch black, and they would probably just assume it was another animal, hunting or calling for its mate.

He stared into the depths of the forest - and his eyes seemed to catch the glimmer of another. He blinked and peered into the thick bank of leaves. He was sure that there were multiple pairs of eyes blinking back at him. His eyes closed once more to blink, and each opening was harder, as though his eyelids were burdened by some great weight. He finally shut his eyes, trying to keep his mind awake, so at least he didn't fully succumb to the venom. But every minute longer was a struggle. The pain seemed to spread all over his body.

He didn't scream again. He didn't call for help.

He just gave in to the darkness in silence.

* * *

As I said, it was researched, but any mistakes I would love to know.

Please leave a comment or an idea or even constructive criticism on your way out - anything is much appreciated!

Info: The snake described was a Jumping Viper, which is found in El Salvador - viper bites can be deadly and very painful. I could go into all the boring details but I'm sure you really dont care.


	19. Canopy

Brennan's eyes snapped open, her brain immediately taking in her surroundings. She could see a canopy of trees above her, the bright sun filtering through as a deep green, creating dancing shadows around her. She could feel twigs and stones poking into her back, and she assumed she was lying on the ground.

She moved her arms and legs ever so slightly, but the pain that rippled through her had softened. She somehow felt healthier, as though more blood had been pumped into her, as though her sallow skin had been filled with colour once more.

She turned her head, wondering whether Booth was still asleep. But there was no-one on the dirt beside her. She quickly snapped her head the other way, but again the space was vacant. She tried not to panic - he could be relieving himself, or finding some water. She took some deep breaths, trying to clear her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the flick of a shadow. Using her better wrist, she pushed herself up, twisting around to see who was behind her. Even before seeing the person, she immediately realised she was in a different place than where she had gone to sleep in.

Her eyes fell on a large black woman, wearing what appeared to be traditional clothes of a tribe. Brennan glanced around her and could see at least ten tents erected in the nearby vicinity. She wondered just exactly where she was. And where Booth was.

The woman approached her cautiously, as though she were afraid of her. She began to speak, but the language was foreign to Brennan. She caught a few Spanish words, but the rest were unknown. There were no chances of communication with this woman.

"I'm sorry," Brennan began, hoping the woman would know some English. "Where am I? Where is my partner?" The woman looked at her for a moment, and then scampered away, heading quickly towards a tent. Brennan wondered whether the woman had understood her or not, but either way, she didn't seem keen to talk to Brennan again.

Uncomfortable in her current position, Brennan lay back down, sighing as her back stretched out. Her muscles felt tense all over her body, and she couldn't wait to release all the kinks with a good massage back home. If she ever returned home.

She saw shadows again and quickly sat back up. The woman had returned, this time with a foreign young man who looked like he would suit better in a magazine. He and the woman spoke for a moment in their tongue, before the man turned to Brennan, raising his arms in acknowledgement.

"I understand that you speak English," he asked. His English sounded very well educated, and Brennan wondered whether he lived here or if he was just temporary.

"Yes, I'm Doctor Temperance Brennan."

"I am Damario Amaronto. I'm a translator."

He extended his hand, and Brennan shook it, wincing as her injured wrist shook violently.

"You look quite...damaged," Damario noted, glancing at her injuries. "My people will attend to your wounds. We would have sooner, but, well, we weren't sure if you were...one of _them_." He seemed frightened of the people he was referring to, and Brennan couldn't help but think it was the same people _she_ was afraid of.

Damario clicked his fingers and nodded to a few girls waiting nearby. They scurried over with water and began to clean her wounds. She winced slightly as the water stung the sores.

"Where's Booth?" She asked Damario. "I was with a man. I don't see him. Where is he?"

Damario's eyes flicked nervously. "We left him there."

"Why?" Brennan couldn't believe it. Her temper began to flare. He could be dying out there, his blood loss making him weaker each minute.

Damario noticed and tried to calm her down. "We weren't sure whether he had come _with_ you or _after_ you. I'm sorry, but we couldn't risk bringing one of _them_ to our campsite."

As much as Brennan hated the resolution, she could understand their concern. She watched as the girls began to wrap bandages around her legs and arms. Her eye suddenly caught one of theirs.

"Naomi?" she asked, recognising the girl. Naomi slowly nodded. "Oh my gosh, Naomi, I was hoping I would see you again. I never got to properly thank you. Or apologise. I-"

"It's okay," Naomi cut her off. It seemed a few here could speak English, not just the translator. But Naomi didn't want to press the topic, so Brennan dropped it.

She turned once more to Damario. "Please, can you find him?" She had a lot more questions to ask him, but it was more important to find Booth first. He could easily be dead by now, and it was getting slowly darker. Damario could see the pain and desperation in her eyes and immediately agreed. "I will send my men out at once."

He marched off to a tent. Brennan was sure he had a bigger role than just a translator.

As it turned darker, and the afternoon dragged on, the girl's attended to her every need. They gave her plenty of food and water, and even after a few hours she felt much stronger than what she had. She was covered in bandages, the most thickly placed around her broken bones. It was hard to move, and somehow she appreciated that - it meant she could just lay and relax.

It was dark by the time they brought him back. Brennan watched from the doorway of the tent she was in. She was desperate to go and check on him.

He wasn't moving when they carried him into camp.

* * *

Please leave a review :)


	20. One Choice

Guys, I realise this has completely changed from the original storyline, but please let me know if you're getting bored, or if you have an idea that you want inputter - let me know!

* * *

She fought with herself against the desire to move, and eventually she decided to go and check on her friend - he was more important than her own relaxation.

With effort, she managed to stand up, and she hobbled out of the tent and over to where they had laid him silently on the ground. She ignored their looks and pleads of protests and they tried to force her back to the tent, instead pushing past them and over to Booth.

By the torchlight that surrounded them, Brennan could see exactly what Booth looked like. His head was turned to the side, his entire face covered with dirt, and leaves and twigs poking out randomly through his hair.

Trailing down his body with her eyes, she could make out the home-made splint attached to his leg. She bent down and touched it.

"What is it?" She whispered. "Is it broken?" But she could see a deep circle of blood, and guessed this was more than just a broken bone. Although she was an anthropologist, the leg was wrapped so thickly it was hard to tell what had happened.

But the tribesmen shook their heads. They made a strange motion with their arms, sliding and wiggling it about. Brennan's eyes widened as she discovered their meaning - a snake. A huge live snake.

She turned her face back to him, now hugely worried. She didn't know how long they had been apart - the snake could have bitten him hours ago! He could be dead already! She pressed her head to his chest, and was relieved to hear a faint heart beat.

Brennan jumped up, wincing as pain rippled through her body, especially from her ankle. She limped around the campsite, searching for Damario, the only person she could trust to fluently speak English and to negotiate with these people. She found him sitting on the ground in a circle with a few other men, larger than the translator and wearing traditional tribal garments. Their faces were covered in paint, and their long hair was tied back into a thick ponytail.

She felt rude for interrupting what looked to be an important meeting, but she had no choice. "Excuse me?" She cut in softly. They all turned to look at her, their beady eyes glaring at her, making her feel like an insecure ant. She nodded to Damario, and he turned to the others, excusing himself in their tongue. He stood up and followed her a few paces behind, before they rolled behind a tree to talk.

"Damario, please, they just brought Booth in."

"Yes, I know, I was just discussing what to do with him."

Brennan's eyes opened. "What do you mean? We have to help him!"

Damario glanced around quickly, making sure they were alone. "Look," he said, lowering his voice so he was barely audible. "We can't trust that he's not one of them."

"I know he isn't! He saved me!" Brennan asked, then quickly shied as she realised her volume.

"We can't be certain of anything."

"Well, you saved me!"

"You are a woman."

"So?"

"There are certain...protocols, if you will," he offered as his only explanation. "I am trying to let them help you, but it's not definite."

She grabbed his arm as he turned to go. "Please...he will die very shortly. What can we do?"

Damario sighed heavily and trudged over to one of the women tending to Booth. He conversed with her, but there didn't seem to be a lot of arguing. The woman nodded and called her fellow women, and together they ran off into the jungle.

"They will create an antidote as fast as possible. I cannot promise that it will save him, but it might buy some time."

"Surely you have an antidote somewhere?"

Damario nodded. "Of course we do! He was bitten by a common snake to these parts. The only snake that's around here. We always have an antidote on standby, but not with us."

"Then with whom?"

He nodded in the vague direction of the trees.

"The jungle?" she asked, jokingly.

"No," Damario shook his head. "The camp."

"The camp? The one from which we just came running?"

"Yes," Damario said sadly. "They borrowed the antidote from us, believing one of them were more likely to be poisoned then one of us - we know this place well," he explained. "You might be able to save him if you get that antidote."

Her mind was racing. She had vowed never to return to that place. But now someone's life was at stake.

"Look," she asked, searching for another route. "Can't someone else go and get it?"

"They don't...appreciate us over there," he said. "It is best if someone of their...origin...were to talk to them.

She took a step back. "I'm sorry," she whispered. I can't go back. They'll find me! They'll kill me!" And this time, Booth won't be there to save me, she thought to herself.

Now it was Damario's turn to step backwards. "Alright," he agreed. "I shall try to talk to them, but I doubt they will agree with me. I'm sorry, but this time it's up to you."

Try to save the man who saved her and have the chance of being killed, or cower here and watch him die.

She really only had one choice.

* * *

Review :)


	21. Pain and Anguish

She lay helplessly in her tent, her back aching as she remained in the single position, her ears straining to hear the chorus of voices outside the thin material.

She had no idea how long had passed. She could hear the soft thud of bare feet on the soft dirt, and she imagined the women to be running around Booth, whether in a frenzy or in a ritual it was hard to tell.

She tried to call out to someone, to anyone, to make them see why she should be out there rather than stuck in her uncomfortable confines. Her stillness was no longer relaxing, but aggravating, and she struggled to keep herself glued to the floor until Damario told her it was time.

Millions of thoughts were zooming through her head like flies. She was determined to sneak onto the base camp and retrieve that antidote for Booth. But she was still unsure that she would successfully be able to do it, without being killed or decapitated in the process.

She wondered whether it was late enough for the doctor's to have gone to their bunks. But, she thought in exasperation, they surely wouldn't just leave the antidote lying in plain site where anyone could pick it up.

She could disguise herself as a beggar, in search for food, and sneak away the antidote, but she doubted she would be able to fool anyone, though her limp would be an advantage. Besides, who had ever seen a beggar in the middle of the desert?

Taking one of the other girls was completely out of the question. She had already ruined Naomi's life, with no way to give back what had been taken from her. She couldn't risk the same happening to any of the other innocent females.

Perhaps she could disguise herself as...herself? Limp onto the campsite, with her face smothered with dirt so it was unrecognisable. The guards were so thick; they wouldn't be able to tell bone structure from a quick glance. The doctor's would almost certainly try to help her – it was in their nature.

It was the only worthwhile plan she had. And if they did discover her, well...she would do it for Booth.

She heard a low whistle from outside, and then the unmistakeable sound of panic gasping. Curiosity gripping her like an anaconda, she awkwardly slipped out of the tent, and froze, her blood running cold.

An enormous snake lay lethally on the edge of the campsite, its pinpricked eyes glancing suspiciously over its occupants. Its black spots blended with the filthy dirt covering the ground, its tongue showing itself proudly to them all. Brennan felt sure that this was the same snake that had attacked Booth.

To her horror, she saw realisation dawn upon Damario's face. He began to sidle over to her, whilst other members of the tribe left to encourage the snake to leave them.

"Temperance," Damario whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "I do believe we were all wrong. I don't know how we could have missed it! This is an uncommon snake to the area, but its bite is very similar. The problem is," he paused, unsure whether to continue. "This snake is much more...deadly," he finished, throwing a worried glance towards her reaction.

Panic froze Brennan more than the snake itself had. She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes searching for something lost within her mind.

"I must leave," she rasped, her throat suddenly becoming dry. "I have to go and get the antidote. They must have it-"

"I am not so sure. He needs proper care!"

"We don't have enough time, Damario," Brennan said loudly, panic striking her voice.

Damario gazed into her eyes, and she stared back just as demandingly. He stood back, his arm outstretched, indicating the path to the village. She gave him a grateful smile before turning and glancing at the motionless Booth, and running off painfully into the darkness.

She tried to shoot all the malicious thoughts out of her mind, such as the idea of running into deadly snakes, or being stung by a lethal plant, or even collapsing from her injuries. She pushed on, determined to be strong, determined to repay Booth.

But was that the only reason? A small voice in her head was suggesting that maybe she wanted to prove that she could do things on her own, that she didn't need to be saved. Maybe to prove that sometimes men needed to be the ones being saved as well?

She pushed this selfish thought out of her mind as soon as it appeared.

She had no idea where she was going. The pain in her ankles, wrist, legs, all her muscles, her entire body; they screamed at her, trying to will her to stop, to rest, to give up. She grunted occasionally, her mind numb with forcing the pain away. She swatted away plants and bugs, her wrist aching as it came into contact with tough and knarled branches. She bit her lip to stop herself screaming as she tripped over a protruding log, causing her ankle to twist awkwardly.

Still, she kept running, continuing to face the general direction she had been shown. It seemed every scrap of nature in the jungle was jumping in her way, trying to block her path to Booth. It seemed to take hours to tackle the green, and it began to press down on her...

Finally, the branches started to thin. Her shoulders became clear of leaves, and her face became scratch-risk-free, as the trees became taller and less-dangerous.

She could see the twinkling lights from the campsite.

So close!

She began to slow down, the pain immediately increasing, as though fire had been lit at her feet, the flames scorching through her blood. She winced, and forced herself not to make a sound.

Now for the next part of her plan.

She reached behind her head, removing the layer of material they had given her to protect her face from mosquitoes. She tied it loosely around her waist, its crooked edges dangling like rags beside her hips.

She bent down, and with effort, removed the bandages that held her ankle in place. If she was to appear weak and dying, she couldn't be seen to have help. She dumped them on the closest tree – the sallow colour would be a giveaway.

The next few minutes were spent removing all her bandages, and trying to look as tribal as possible. With difficulty, she managed to bend down and scoop some of the dusty dirt into her shaking hands, and smothered it onto her parched face. She took out her muck-filled hair, and ran her hands roughly through it, causing it to stick out at odd angles.

She knew she must look a sight.

Perfect.

She forced herself out of the tree-line, stumbling as the pain shot through her now-unsupported ankle. She dropped her mouth open, and her hands hung limply by her sides. She continued to make her way slowly to the camp, the pain excruciating, now wishing they actually _would_ give her medical assistance. A few times she fell, not just from acting, but due to her lack of energy and injuries.

She could see doctor's and guards watching her warily, some with disgust, others with an air of worry. A few started to run over to her, desperate to help her. By this point she felt like she would collapse at any second, and was grateful when a woman handed her a tin of water. She sagged to the floor, and curled herself up, as though to shield herself away from the enemy, which was what she was trying to do; to hide her face – particularly from the doctor's, who would have knowledge of bone structure and facial features.

She began to rock back and forth, moaning loudly, desperate for more water. She was so confused, so blinded by the pain that she was unsure what she was acting and what was real anymore. She hadn't the faintest clue how she could get the antidote in this condition. She doubted it would just be protruding from someone's pocket.

She managed to summon up her strength, force her mind to concentrate, and act once more. She reached down and clutched her painful leg, and to her pleasure asked what was wrong.

"Snake," she moaned. "A huge...brown...snake."

This had taken more effort than she had actually anticipated, and was horrified to find sobs falling down her dirt-smothered face.

"Please..." she whimpered in exasperation, and, much to her pain-filled delight, they ran off, muttering about an antidote. The voices were garbles, as though spoken from a very great distance down a misused megaphone.

She was unsure what to do next. Would they inject her with the antidote? Of course they would, she muttered to herself furiously. She had to take it, to have them hand it to her instead...

She gazed around, trying to find where the doctor's had gone, and she saw him. He stood sulkily against one of the tents, his burly frame blocking the setting sunlight.

She refused to let herself even _think _of his name.

A deep loathing coarsed through her, as though a snake had entered her blood stream and was slithering throughout her body. She was desperate to scream at him, to make him aware of what he had done to her, what he had put her through. But her screams were silent, and the tears once more ran down her face, fresh and warm against her frozen skin.

Luckily, the doctor's returned, and blocked his view from her. She was glad – she knew serious damage would happen if she ever laid her eyes on him again.

They held her down, a sharp needle appearing from a gloved hand. Brennan squirmed, trying to get them to stop. She kicked out, her ankle connecting with one of their hands, and she screamed in pain as her ankle cracked loudly. Tears were running freely now.

She had no choice. Brennan pushed herself off the floor, grabbed the antidote and began to run to the jungle. She screamed in anguish as her ankle rolled beneath her, sobs now emitting from her mouth, and she struggled not to stop. She could hear the padded footsteps behind her, but she dared not turn around.

All she could think about was the darkness that would fill her mind when she returned, how they would soothe her injuries and calm her down.

She reached the edge of the trees, and shot a quick look behind her. They had fallen behind, perhaps scared of the jungle, or taken aback by her reaction. Either way, it was not her concern.

She slid the bandages off the trees as she ran, using them desperately to slap away the leaves in front of her face. Every object possible on the ground seemed to fall into her footsteps, and she had no choice but to watch the ground, and hope she didn't run into a tree in the process.

A sudden thought occurred. They had needed a specific antidote, a stronger one.

What if she had gotten the wrong one?

The natives had misidentified the snake – could the doctor's have as well?

But she had no choice. It was better than nothing.

Her heart lifted as she saw the campsite. She saw Damario's shocked face as he took in her condition, and listened, his face contorting slightly as Brennan screamed in relief and anguish. She hobbled over to Booth, her head weeping on his strong body.

His heartbeat was invisible.


	22. One Man

Thanks for bearing with me, guys!

This is actually my last chapter for this story. I wrote it in a bit of a rush, so I know it could be a lot better. but oh well :) Would love to hear your reviews - whether it be for this chapter or the whole story!

Thanks so much all of you for sticking with me xx

* * *

Brennan watched with agitation as the elders sat beneath the overgrown tree, deep in discussion, its leaves shadowing their weathered faces. Her hands trembled in Booth's as she sat beside him, her pulse beating loud and fast, as though supplying both her blood and Booth's.

Booth hadn't moved a muscle since she had left, nor since they had injected the antidote. Brennan wasn't one to think the worst of things, but she had to force herself to admit that hope was almost lost.

There was a chance the anti-venom would work, that it would clean his blood, that his eyes would open, his magnificent chest rise and fall once more.

She struggled to control herself, to not shout at the elders to hurry and make their decision. As soon as she had returned with the antidote, she had harassed them into a corner, forcing them to see that the only way Booth would survive was if he was flown to hospital.

But it seemed the tribe, though they would be sorry to lose the soldier, were not prepared to risk their location, nor dispose of so much effort to help a single man.

Hence the meeting beneath the tree.

But every passing second was a second lost. Brennan watched Booth's delicate face, the thick grime motionless as his face remained still. She lifted her hand, swiping some of the muck off gently, revealing the thin layer of stubble that lay beneath.

She wondered, as she had continuously over the past hour, why she cared for him so much, why she was so determined for him to see tomorrow. She barely knew the man! True, she was grateful that he had saved her life, that he had rescued her from the hell-hole that she had been confined in, but why was she on the verge of tears at the thought of him dying?

Was it the fact that he had put himself through so much pain – the bullet, the beatings, the snake bite – just to make sure she was safe? Or that he risked his own life so she could live a peaceful one?

Her thoughts became as jumbled as an unsorted jigsaw puzzle, which was uncommon for Brennan's brain. She squeezed Booth's hand tighter, and took an enormous breath, emitting a dry sob when she realised how foolish she was acting.

Glancing at her broken watch, she saw that at least six hours had passed since Booth had been brought into the camp. And she had no idea how long he had been waiting in the jungle.

It was at least a 2 hour flight to the nearest hospital.

A haunted tear trickled down her face as she came to terms with herself. Even as she felt Booth's hands grow colder beneath her own worn and cut ones, she still tried to deny herself, to squeeze warmth back into them, to imagine his chest rising and falling as he took shallow breaths.

She bowed her head, breathing deeply, trying to force back her tears for the man she barely knew. Regretted questions began to fly around her head. She hadn't even bothered to ask how old he was, or if he had children, or even his favourite flavour of ice cream.

_You never had time to ask him, _a small voice told her consolingly.

And the biggest pain that was gripping her heart was that she knew it was her fault. All of it.

_It was his choice._

Yes, but she could have just died and saved him the trouble. She had been half dead anyway.

_That just proves what kind of person he was._

Brennan sighed and pushed herself away from the table. She was angry and hurt, mostly at herself. At her actions, her thoughts, and her emotions. She worked with the dead! She shouldn't be so emotional. She never had been...before him...

She glanced once more over to the decision tree. The elders were glancing surreptitiously at her, as though wondering whether to let her in on a juicy secret.

She looked towards the natives, who were running about their own duties, free from the confines of death, their only care being to collect water or sweep their hut-mats.

She looked at her feet, now tightly wrapped, a thick yellow paste oozing from beneath the bandages.

She knew what she had to do. What she should have done all along.

She walked to the edge of the jungle, plucking a native flower from its home, and placed it on Booth's naked chest. She bent down and kissed his lips, before turning her back on him and walking out into the jungle.

She could feel the gawking expressions of the tribe behind her, but she didn't turn around. She had caused enough trouble.

She was exhausted. She had no clue of what was to happen next.

She continued to walk blindly, unsure of where she was headed; if she was entering the tent embassy or just stumbling deeper into the forest.

But her thoughts were mixed together, unable to discern two trees apart, let alone a similar path to the one they had taken only a day before.

She had no idea how long she had walked for. All she knew was that her feet, arms, body and heart were aching beyond belief, and how much she would prefer a nice cold shower. The heat was sticking her clothes to her uncomfortably, but she could barely feel it. All she could feel was pain.

She eventually stumbled out onto an open plain, and she recognised it as a short way away from the scientist campsite. She knew nothing of her fate, but recognised civilisation, water and a small amount of comfort. Barely thinking, she dragged her feet until they took her to the campsite.

Amazingly, they took her in. They recognised her as the victim of the 'snake bite', and were willing to help mend her, believing her to be mad, or at least mentally unhealthy, perhaps changed by the jungle.

They immediately flew her back to Washington, believing that she still may have the bite, and this was shown in their downcast faces, as they appeared to believe that she had no hope left.

She obliged with their every step, too exhausted to do anything but comply.

The flight was long and tiring. She slept on the rubbery chairs, her dreams filled with venomous snakes, and a flailing Booth. She woke up in a cold sweat, despite the compressing heat surrounding her.

The next few days went in a blur, yet timelessly slow at the same time. She was transported to hospital, where they patched up all her injuries, muttering darkly underneath their breaths as they guessed the cause of the cuts and breaks, but no one came close to the truth.

Her brain continued to be filled with vile thoughts of snakes, and regrets about leaving Booth behind. She told the doctors to collect him, but they believed her to be muttering uselessly, and ignored the pleas, trying to soothe her instead.

They let her out of the hospital after a week, and she returned to work to a confused and concerned group of co-workers, all asking to hear her story, to discuss how she received so many scars. She was mute, though, her words coming out in mutterings, in short streams of incoherent syllables.

She eventually got over it. She pushed back the thought of her 'partner', of his death, the image of his body lying uselessly on the makeshift table. She knew there was little she could do, and could have done, and rationally decided to move on.

It was not without consequences, though. Dreams continued to haunt her sleep, and she often woke up, lonely and afraid, a rare feeling to her innocent body.

She knew her life had changed because of that one man.

Seeley Booth.

* * *

Well, I bet Im gonna get a few hate reviews :)

Sorry, guys, didnt want to kill him off, but sometimes you just gotta do something a bit different, you know?

And I apologise all those who got bored - not my best chapter.

As I said, please review! Would love to hear comments for the chapter/story.

Thanks everyone! xx


End file.
